Infiltration
by Laryn Chillbreeze
Summary: Imara Goodspeed is no stranger to the unexpected, but a routine job presents her with a choice that might go against everything she stands for.
1. Introductions

_**Infiltration**_

By Laryn Chillbreeze

_Author's notes and disclaimers: _

_The Star Wars universe and its inhabitants are represented by LucasArts and, more recently, Bioware and EA Games. This is an exclusive contract, so I am not allowed to take any credit for most of this story. I mean it. Give them the credit. I'd rather not have bounty hunters after me._

_Warning: This story is classified as a "lime". Read on at your own risk._

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**Introductions**

"I wouldn't finish that sequence if I were you." The lightly accented words were accompanied by the distinct feel of a blaster barrel pressed into the middle of her back and the sound of a stealth field disengaging. She stiffened in surprise for a moment, then relaxed into her usual bravado as she called to her companion. "Bowdaar, keep this guy busy for just a minute, will you? I'm almost done."

There was no response other than a dry chuckle behind her. "Bowdaar? Is that his name? Sorry, but the wookie is in no position to help you. Now step away from the console." The slicer looked back over her shoulder to confirm the voice's boast. Behind a neatly-groomed man in his early thirties stood her friend and self-proclaimed bodyguard. His head was hanging heavily, and a dart protruded from the fur of his right shoulder. A pale, bald woman with purple tattoos stood confidently training another blaster on the near-unconscious wookie. _Not good,_ she thought. _I can get out of here, but I'd have to leave Bowdaar behind. And that bitch would probably kill him first if I started fighting. My best chance is to stall them until that tranquilizer wears off._

Apparently the Imperial knew this too, because his next instructions quickly dashed that plan. "Kaliyo, use the antigrav unit and bring... Bowdaar." The man gave the slicer a meaningful look when he said the name. Kaliyo's scowl was her only answer as she complied. Unfortunately for the intruders, she administered a longer-lasting sedative to the wookie as well.

Her apparent superior never moved his coldly professional gaze from the slicer while he issued his orders and waited for them to be followed. His eyes remained steady as he addressed the slicer directly. "Turn around and put your hands in front of you like a good girl, and we'll be going."

She did turn around, but put her hands on her hips and smirked with barely-felt confidence. "My parents always told me never to go anywhere with strangers. I guess that means I have to stay here. And that computer was _so_ entertaining. I'm sure you don't mind if I keep playing."

"I'm sorry, but I do mind. These computers are for official use only. And..." he feigned chagrin and gave her a slight bow, "I do apologize for my lack of manners. I am Cipher Nine, an agent in the employ of the grand Empire. You, my dear, are under arrest."

Quick but surprisingly gentle hands snapped a restraint on one of the slicer's wrists. When she instinctively grabbed at it with her free hand, Cipher Nine used the opportunity to shackle her other wrist. In spite of her situation, with her wrists bound and her friend in a stupor, the slicer still managed to grin as if she had the upper hand. "So," she asked in a casual tone, "where to?"

* * *

In fine rogue fashion, the slicer chatted amiably during their walk to the Mezenti Spaceport, both to keep her spirits up and to possibly gain some useful information. The agent again surprised her by being forthcoming with his answers. _No strategic information, of course, _Cipher Nine reminded himself, _but a pleasant conversation is certainly a nice change. _Kaliyo was nearly as silent as the wookie she was guiding along. That was typical for her, when she wasn't making some scathing remark or chiding him for being too soft. _Some things just require a more delicate touch. Leave the heavy lifting to the soldiers. _His mind wandered to other circumstances involving a "delicate touch" until he noticed the slicer had stopped speaking. She had turned her head toward him and seemed to be waiting for something.

"I'm afraid I didn't hear your question, miss..." Cipher Nine struggled to maintain his sense of being in charge of the situation. _Damn this woman is distracting! I haven't even learned her name yet!_

"I asked which ship is yours." The slicer ignored the prompt for her name. Cipher Nine could have sworn she gloated briefly, but lost the chance to confirm his suspicion when she looked away to consider the berthed vessels. Well, he hadn't actually given his real name either. _But she's my prisoner, not my equal. Worse, she's a threat to the Empire. _He pointed out his ship anyway, and saw a look of honest admiration cross her face.

"An X-70 Phantom! Someone must think highly of you. I've only heard rumors of those. So I guess you're not some underling. Glad to know I wasn't caught by just anyone." She held up her head as she added, "Not that I _could_ be caught by just anyone." The flush of pride which had been creeping up Cipher Nine's neck dissipated with the cocky tone in her last statement.

"Actually," he corrected, "that's an X-70B. Top of the line, and your transport to Dromund Kaas where you will face trial and most likely execution." _There, that should take her down a notch. _"There is a slim chance you can change the outcome, if you're willing to divulge exactly what you learned from our system, what the Republic was planning to do with the information, and perhaps share what you know about the Republic..." He barely bit back the word _scum_, remembering at the last instant that civility was a better approach with this type. He tapped a short sequence into his wrist computer to open the hatch, then bowed again in a gentlemanly fashion. "After you."

Immediately on boarding the ship, the small party was greeted fervently by a silver and red droid. Cipher Nine ignored it, but Kaliyo relaxed her vigil over the comatose wookie long enough to wave her blaster in the droid's face. "Shut it, Twovee," she growled. The 2V unit gushed apologies and headed off to prepare a meal for the crew and their guests. It wouldn't do to have a hungry wookie on board, after all, and past experience had taught Twovee that hungry masters were more likely to turn service droids to scrap metal. It had heard about that happening to droids on other ships, at any rate.

"These are your quarters. I do hope you find it comfortable," Cipher Nine explained with mock-solicitation as he led the slicer to a holding cell. A short distance away, Bowdaar was deposited by an annoyed-looking Kaliyo into an identical cell. The slicer-turned-prisoner noted with dismay the shock collar around the wookie's neck.

Cipher Nine caught the look and elucidated, "A necessary precaution. Your friend is quite powerful, so I can't risk the damage he would cause if he got loose."

She nodded to concede the point, accepting the indirect compliment and threat with equal aplomb. That self-assurance was interrupted when Cipher Nine produced a syringe filled with a murky purple fluid. "What's that?"

"Truth serum," he answered calmly as injected the liquid into her upper arm. _Impressive. She didn't even blink when the needle went in._

"Do you always drug girls before you talk to them?" she teased.

"Just the ones who are likely to be difficult. I want information." He stepped closer until she could feel his breath on her face, then added in a slightly menacing tone, "And I _always_ get what I want."

A chill raced up and down her spine as he left the room. The feeling eventually subsided, and she gathered the courage to taunt silently, _Not this time, buddy_. Already, one of her cybernetic enhancements was working to purge the serum from her system. Unfortunately, just being able to resist that approach wasn't enough. She had to find a way off this ship and back to freedom. With an effort, she reminded herself of the tight situations she had been in before. _I _will _find a way out of this one. I always do. Dromund Kaas is about half a day __away. That's plenty of time. I just need to figure out how. _In spite of these assurances, she couldn't help feeling a twinge of panic when the ship's engines roared to life and Nar Shadaa's surface fell away beneath them.

She was no better off twenty minutes later when Cipher Nine came back from the bridge. Bowdaar had regained consciousness, but his initial roars of defiance had given her a splitting headache and earned himself a hefty jolt from the shock collar, gleefully delivered by the Rattataki. Bowdaar and the slicer had both turned down the meal the droid offered, despite the tantalizing aroma rising from the bowls – no small feat for the wookie. Cipher Nine looked at the cooling portions of stew with disapproval.

"If I had wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have wasted the effort to bring you onto my ship to do it. Dead bodies do tend to reek."

"Oh, I'm sure you meant well, but your girlfriend seems to be a bit jealous. I wouldn't put it past her to tamper with the food. Besides, the droid forgot to remove the restraints so we could actually eat." She cocked her head to one side in a coy manner. "Or were you planning on feeding us?" She barely managed to keep from laughing as a variety of emotions passed through Cipher Nine's features: incredulity, irritation, and... shock? Yes, that was definitely shock.

_Of all the responses I had anticipated, flirting wasn't one of them. _Cipher Nine grinned at the thought. _This should be fun._

It was the slicer's turn to be shocked when she saw the agent suddenly grin at her and seat himself in the chair folded down from the opposite wall. "And give your friend a chance to rip my arms from their sockets? I'll give you points for cleverness, but I'm no fool either. As you said, I'm not just anyone. Now, let's talk about who _you_ are and what you were doing at that terminal."

* * *

The slicer did her best to evade and deflect questions, and even managed to take the conversation off topic a couple times. By this time, Cipher Nine was up and pacing in front of the cell. _Good. Just a little further and he'll make a mistake. With any luck, I can goad him into letting me out._ However, she had needed to give a little to keep her verbal footing with him. "I was just curious" would have been dismissed out of hand, so she admitted to searching for schematics. The terminal's records would have told him that much anyway. No kind in particular, she had explained, just anything which might be of interest to a potential buyer. Yes, of course she was about to spike the system; that goes with the territory, so long as one doesn't drop the spike before stealing the data. "Actually, there's a funny story about that..."

Cipher Nine shook his head halfway through the recitation. "So the Republic instructed you to disable the system as well?"

"I already told you, I'm a freelancer. I don't work for the Republic."

"And _I_ already told _you_ I know a Republic spy or saboteur when I see one."

"Then I bet you see a lot of them, because you're seeing them where there aren't any. My work goes to the highest bidder."

"Then who is your employer? And what would he want with Imperial plans?"

"That's classified," she retorted smugly, using his own line from when she had asked what he thought she had found.

Cipher Nine stopped pacing and took a deep breath. This was going nowhere. Part of him was thrilled to have such a delightful challenge, but another part was becoming increasingly frustrated at this woman's mercurial conversational skills. Most people would have broken down by now. Had they met under other circumstances...

He lowered the cell's field so he could address her more directly. She flinched slightly when he brought a hand up next to her face, but he only wound his fingers into her shoulder-length auburn hair.

"So you work for the highest bidder."

Her breathing had quickened a little, but her voice was steady as she replied, "That's right. About time you got it."

"Why not work for me? For the Empire? The Republic... or whoever your employer is," he added with dripping sarcasm, "probably won't be able to match the wages we can provide."

She didn't hesitate before answering, "I hate the Empire. That's part of why I took this job."

The words echoed in Cipher Nine's head for a moment before he thought to ask her _why_ she hated the Empire. Even saying the words left a taste of ash in his mouth. Her flippant response of "long story" was just as frustrating as their earlier conversation had been. Only her barely audible hiss of pain made him aware he was clenching the fist holding her hair. He released his grasp and moved his hand down to her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. Enough was enough.

"Since you insist on being stubborn," he growled, "I can see we're going to have to do this the hard way. I told you before, I always get what I want. You may have forgotten about Bowdaar, but I have not. From now on, every time you refuse to answer a question, the wookie will pay for it. It is a rather barbaric method, but effective. Your friend's pain will loosen your lips." He ran a thumb lightly over her lips as he breathed the last sentence, eliciting a shudder, then waited a moment for the full weight of the threat to sink in.

"Your name," he commanded.

The prisoner shot an apologetic look at Bowdaar, then glared back at Cipher Nine. "Imara."

* * *

Two hours later, Cipher Nine had drained Imara of almost all the information she had about the schematics in the Imperial terminal. Half a dozen shocks to the wookie, delivered sadistically by Kaliyo – _And most of those with no order to do it, let alone a good reason_, she seethed - caused Imara's voice to break, but she adamantly refused to admit being anything other than a freelancer temporarily in the employ of some small-time inventor. Either it was true or a very thorough cover story, because even Imperial records supported her claim. He set that information aside for more careful scrutiny later. Best not to start seeing connections where there were none. Others had made that mistake and lost their minds. Still, he was not satisfied. There was something missing.

Imara recited her answers almost mechanically now, exhausted from the interrogation. Her typical confidence was noticeably flagging, as her responses became more straightforward and less self-assured. _What does he want? _she fumed inwardly, although even that was lacking energy. _I've already told him everything I know about those damned schematics... well, most of it. He can't have guessed the rest._

Cipher Nine paced restlessly in front of Imara's cell, trying to find the missing bit of information. Finally he stopped and grabbed her chin again, searching for clues in her expression. A flinch – fear. _Good, she should be afraid. People who are afraid are more likely to slip up in their story._ A tiny shift of her left eye (he couldn't tell what the right one was doing) in the direction of the other cell accompanied by a crease in her forehead. _She's worried the wookie is about to get shocked again._ Indeed, Kaliyo was looking at Cipher Nine expectantly.

A quick tightening of the lips. _That's not good – she's thinking about fighting back. Damn, but this one is fiery! Well, best to keep her off balance so she can't set her defenses again. _Before he could think twice about what most would consider rash, or at best unprofessional, he used his free hand to draw Imara in for a kiss. Kaliyo growled almost as loudly as Bowdaar, but he didn't care. He had a job to do, and he wasn't about to let some Republic girl keep him from doing it.

_She's still fighting me, _he observed as he felt her body tense. He pulled back to consider the effects of his decision. Her normally direct gaze was averted, and her respiration and pulse rates had both risen sharply. Her small hands had balled into fists; if not for the restraints, she probably would have slugged him for that. Before she had the chance to move into action, Cipher Nine took a step back, cleared his throat, and smoothed his coat and beard. By the time he had finished, Imara had relaxed back into her confident posture and was regarding him carefully.

"Shall we try this again?" he asked patiently. He was about to start asking questions about her employer, but those questions were halted by Imara's best seductive smile.

"Fine by me," she purred, "but I don't think this is the best place for it, do you?" Obviously his attempt to unbalance his prisoner had backfired, because he was the one who was floored. Once he had replaced his wits into some semblance of order, he decided a little recreation was one of the perks of the job, and what could a bound, unarmed young woman on a hostile ship in deep space do anyway?

* * *

_He's good in bed, I'll give him that,_ Imara mused as she looked at the sleeping figure next to her. Too bad he hadn't noticed her palm one of his tranquilizer darts when he reached out to keep her from "falling". _These gentleman types are all the same – they see a damsel in distress and lose their senses._ She chuckled quietly at how unfair it all was for guys, then unbound her cuffs. The restraints were standard-issue; no challenge for Imara. He had underestimated her. _They all do, for some reason._ She shrugged as she pulled on her clothing, fastened her weapons belt, then activated her stealth field generator.

Kaliyo slumped where she sat on the bridge when the dart struck home. Imara eased the woman's body to the deck, then went to free Bowdaar. On the way, she encountered Twovee and prepared to blast it. Amazingly, the droid surrendered without a fight, then deactivated itself. _Not a combat droid, I guess._ As Bowdaar moved the two new prisoners into the ship's holding cells, Imara set course for Republic space.

A minor course correction set them down in a large field on Alderaan a short time later. Imara could very easily have brought the troublesome agent to Republic security, but he hadn't actually harmed her or Bowdaar. Aside from the application of the shock collar, both had actually been treated rather well. _Okay, so maybe the Empire has a few good people in it, _she admitted silently. _That still doesn't excuse what they did. _

Her contemplation was interrupted by Bowdaar's rumbling voice. "Why are we leaving live enemies behind us?" he inquired.

Imara's thoughts turned inward again for a moment before answering. "An old friend once told me the best vengeance is letting a person live with their failure." The wookie nodded grudging acceptance and followed the slicer to the Republic spaceport.

* * *

"Summers, aren't we going after them?" Kaliyo pressed.

Agent "Cipher Nine" Summers, released by the recently reactivated droid, reached the viewport in time to watch the pair disappear over the horizon.

"Not this time. We got what we were after, and I'm sure we'll see them again. Let's go make our report."

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_A/N: I agree with the review by moody bloom, and have changed the rating from M to T. _

_Update - October 27, 2012: I know my review challenge (10 reviews) wasn't anywhere close to being met, but my muse would have given me a concussion if I didn't finish the story anyway. Future chapters are ready for posting, and will contain spoilers for the smuggler and IA storylines as well as references to Imara's backstory (laid out in "How I Became a Smu... Businesswoman). _


	2. Fallout

_Author's note: Chapter 1 was originally intended to stand alone. However, Imara and the others wouldn't let me leave it at that. The rest of the chapters in this story contain spoilers for the smuggler and IA storylines, as well as references to my other fic, "How I Became a Smu... Businesswoman."_

_Massive thanks to FrictionX42 and BuriedBeneath for letting me borrow their OC's. Also thanks to LucasArts, Bioware, and EA for allowing me to write about the Star Wars Universe. Lastly, thanks to all of you who are reading and hopefully enjoying our collective project._

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**Fallout**

Walking back to the Alderaan spaceport beside his rescuer (_again_, he mused) and friend, Bowdaar quietly reflected on Imara's shift in temperament. Like most other races, she often underestimated just how much he, and Wookies in general, really perceived and understood. It was both a blessing and a curse in that his people could move freely among others and not be viewed as a threat in any fashion other than physical – it's amazing what people will say when they think no one who understands is listening – but they were seldom taken seriously when they had a contribution to make to a conversation. So despite their similar pasts and recently shared experiences, it came as no surprise to the Wookie that Imara chose to keep her own counsel. However, her body language gave away much of what she was feeling. Most obvious was the lack of her customary self-assuredness. As much as he wanted to say _something_ to cheer her up, he decided to respect her desire for solitude. Shrugging inwardly, they continued on in silence.

Back at the Deucalon Spaceport on Nar Shadaa, Imara's other crew members were not so calm. Bowdaar and their captain had been gone for nearly a full day – much longer than normal. After trying unsuccessfully at least a dozen times to reach Imara's communicator, they began to fear the worst. By this time, Risha was keeping herself busy making minor repairs on the ship, Corso was carefully inspecting his armor and weapons, and C2-N2 was chattering nervously to anyone who would listen.

_One more hour,_ Corso thought as he repaired a small dent in his chestplate. _One more hour, then I'm going after them myself. Orders be da-_

A chime from the holoprojector signaling an incoming transmission cut him off. In spite of the meticulous attention he had just been giving his armor, he dropped the piece to the deck and ran to the common area to accept the call. His legs nearly buckled with relief when the Captain's image appeared over the table in the middle of the room. She didn't appear to be injured, although whether it was because of the poor image quality or a lack of any actual injuries, he wasn't sure.

"Captain! What happened to you? This was supposed to be a routine job, but I haven't heard from you since yesterday! What's going on?" Corso blurted the words before he had time to realize the woman he was talking to was, for one, technically in charge, and two, had been taking care of herself for years. That's what she told him, anyway.

"Nice to see you too, Corso." Imara considered his shirtless form and added teasingly, "You and Risha been having fun while I was gone?"

"What? I... No, I mean... what?" he stammered. Not for the first time since leaving Ord Mantell, he was glad his dark skin concealed his blush. He was still trying to form a coherent response when she started laughing.

"Oh stars, you don't know how bad I needed that!" she explained when she finally caught her breath. "I'm glad I can count on you to cheer me up."

"Um... sure, Captain. Anytime." Oddly enough, he meant it. "When are you coming back?"

Imara fingered the implant on her left arm. "There's a little problem with that. We need you to come get us."

Fortunately, Risha had just joined Corso at the comm panel, because the soldier was about to grab his armor and head for the airlock. "Where are you, Captain?"

"Alderaan. Usual landing spot."

"That's quite a long way to travel without a ship," Risha commented, sounding almost amused. "How did you wind up there?"

"Long story," Imara evaded. "Just come pick us up, would you? See you when you get here." Before either of them could reply, the image faded into static and disappeared.

* * *

Imara managed to summon the energy to fake her usual confidence before boarding her ship. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of questions from overprotective Corso and caustic Risha. As expected, the farmboy-turned-soldier was there at the hatch to meet her with a worried look on his face and his blaster belt slung over one shoulder. She had to work to keep from laughing in his face when he started his tirade.

"Alderaan! Captain, we're on Alderaan!" Imara nodded at the incredibly astute observation. "Listen, I know you don't have to report in to us or anything, but could you at least give us a heads up before leaving the _planet?_ First you don't answer your comm for hours, then I find out you're in a whole different system! How'd you get here anyway?"

"I hitched a ride with a friend," she shrugged, barely managing to swallow the disgust welling up with the last word. Suddenly her patience snapped. She rounded on Corso and jammed her finger in his chest. "And you're right, I _don't_ have to report in to you or anyone. This is my ship. If that bothers you, just tell me where I should drop you off." She immediately regretted the harsh words, but she was in no mood to soothe his ego.

Naturally, Risha chose that moment to interject, "You could at least thank us for coming to pick you up. I can't say I'd mind having a ship of my own." Imara suppressed a wince, feeling as if she had actually been slapped, then faced the heiress and retorted, "You had your chance at my ship when you and Skavak were out joyriding. Besides, I've reprogrammed things a little to keep that from happening again." The last was a bluff, but Imara saw no reason to let Risha think the ship – Imara's home for the past four years – could be taken so easily. Realizing the truth in Risha's first statement, Imara did soften enough to manage a "thank you" before pushing past the pair and heading for her quarters.

"What happened to you two?" Corso directed the question at Bowdaar. The Wookie shrugged, grumbled a non-committal answer, then headed for the galley. Realizing no answer was forthcoming, Corso stalked toward the bridge under the pretense of monitoring the controls. Risha watched them all go, then heaved a deep sigh. She had no more idea of the truth of the matter than Corso, but she knew it was seriously bothering Imara. Unfortunately, she didn't know the other woman well enough to ask about something Imara obviously didn't want to discuss, so she too decided to let the captain have her privacy.

* * *

_Filthy Imperials! _Imara fumed as she scrubbed herself. Her inner dialogue raged back and forth, first condemning her for letting herself get into that situation, then forgiving her for things being outside her ability to control.

_-You _slept _with him! You slept with the enemy!_

_ What choice was there? When else was he going to let down his guard?_

_ -You could have tranq'd him earlier. You didn't have to go through with it._

_ Yes, yes I did. That Ratattaki was listening; I'm sure of it. She would have known something was wrong if..._

_ -If what? That's not the only reason you didn't stop. Admit it, you enjoyed it. _

_ A little. _

_ -A little? More than that. Face it – he was good. Hell, he was even a nice guy, all things considered. Not to mention it's been a while. Just my luck though, he would turn out to be a filthy, lock-stepping, condescending, planet-wrecking Imperial. Of all the stupid things to do..._

Imara stopped that thought in its tracks and fought down another surge of anger. Despite the logic of the situation, she knew it would be a long time before she actually managed to live down her decision. She turned her attention to cleaning her cyberware, spending extra time and effort on her blood filter – the implant responsible for sparing her countless unpleasant experiences in cantinas on various worlds, and more recently from the truth serum the agent had administered. _I'm almost glad I lost my eye. I wouldn't have needed this handy little device otherwise. _She finished about twenty minutes later, then moved to her desk to start her log. Ten minutes later, she was still staring at a blank screen when she heard a knock at the door.

* * *

While Imara was washing, Corso was pacing rapidly on the bridge, still seething at being dismissed so readily. _Drop me off? After all we've been through, and she wants to just drop me off somewhere? Maybe it hasn't occurred to her, but I was actually worried. I don't know why I bothered – she was off with some friend having a grand old time. _

He slammed his hand down on one of the consoles, then reflexively drew his blaster and nearly fired when Bowdaar spoke from behind him, "The captain wouldn't like it if you broke the ship."

"Damn the captain and damn the ship!" Corso yelled. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I didn't mean that. I've just been on edge lately. I'm sorry." Bowdaar nodded in understanding and proffered one of the two sandwiches he was carrying.

"She had to make hard choices. Be patient," he explained laconically.

"What choices? What happened?"

Bowdaar shook his head slowly and held out the sandwich again. "I don't understand all of it. You should ask the captain." He hated lying to friends, but he knew better than to tell the story himself. The treatment he had suffered was nothing compared to what he had experienced during his century of slavery, so he was able to shrug it off for the most part. The rest of the past day's events weren't for him to tell. There were times being perceived as "big and dumb" had its benefits.

"What makes you think she wants to talk to me?" Corso asked in frustration. "She'd just as soon have me off _her_ ship." He continued to ignore the gift and resumed pacing. Bowdaar's next words halted him after only two steps.

"She needs you."

The soldier's head snapped up. "What did you say?" When he received no response, he turned back to Bowdaar, only to find his hairy shipmate halfway down the corridor – both sandwiches firmly in hand.

It was another half hour before Corso finally decided he had heard right after all and needed to do something about it. He double-checked the ship's status – not difficult since they were still in port – then headed to the captain's quarters. There was no answer to the first knock, nor to the second, louder attempt. Unable to quell the concern gnawing in his gut, he pushed the door open, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Imara turned at the sound, and to his surprise did not berate him for entering without permission. She just gave him a strained smile and turned back to her desk.

_Well now what, genius? You went to see her and don't have anything useful to say. Great. _Corso closed the door behind him and stood watching her for a long moment. He finally noticed she wasn't doing anything at her console; she was just standing there.

"If this is a bad time, I can leave you alone." Imara was shaking her head before he finished the sentence.

"No, I'm just going over things. Honestly, I don't even know where to start." He could barely hear her, despite standing only a meter away. That alone concerned him. This was as close to weakness as he had ever seen her, including the several times both of them had nearly died in battle, and the revelation shocked him. _Something major must have happened_, he guessed. He moved across the room and put a companionate hand on her shoulder, wordlessly offering support. She flinched slightly, but didn't pull away. After a moment, she astonished him further by leaning into the touch. It was no secret to anyone Corso had felt warmly toward Imara for a long time, so he took a chance and put his other arm around her back, drawing her close. He felt her stiffen and almost let her go, but decided against it when the tension started melting away, leaving her face buried in his chest. She didn't return the gesture, instead keeping her arms tucked in front of her, but he recognized the opportunity even to hold her like this as a privilege granted to very few.

Imara took a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady herself, but that only seemed to make things worse. The honest, earthy scent of her friend contrasted too well with the sharp cinnamon smell of the man she had been with a short while before. Instead of being soothing as it normally was, it brought the memories from earlier back in a rush.

Corso felt her tense again and almost expected her to cry – that's what normally happened in this kind of situation, in his experience – but Imara was quiet. Only irregular breathing and an occasional shudder showed any sign of her thoughts. Corso didn't know how long they stood there like that, but after a long time her breathing finally became deeper and more regular. Only then did he realize how upset she had actually been to start with. He risked pulling her away a little to look her in the eye, but her biological eye was closed, and her cybernetic eye wasn't moving.

_She's asleep, _he thought with amazement. _She fell asleep standing up. _Keeping one arm around her back to support her, he leaned down and easily swept up the other behind her knees, carried her over to the bed, and gently laid her down. He considered removing her boots, but she would probably kick him in the face by reflex. Worse, he might wake her up.

Raised as he was, the idea to stay was rejected before it had even completely formed. However, even that chivalry wasn't enough to motivate him to leave when she reached out, still sleeping, and grabbed his shirt. He stood frozen with indecision for an agonizing four seconds, then laid down beside her and put an arm protectively over her waist.

Three and a half sleepless hours later, Corso finally decided it was time to untangle himself and depart.


	3. Scheming

_A/N: I really don't want some Imperial Agent looking up MY info because someone thinks I'm getting paid for this. I'm not. Honestly. If you have money to burn, go get a SWTOR subscription, donate to an animal shelter... something. Also, sorry about the short chapter. Summers asked me to refrain from including everything so I don't spoil the surprises in the plot later on. Feel free to speculate in your reviews._

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**Scheming**

Agent Summers couldn't sleep. There was far too much work to be done. First, he had to file the report regarding the infiltration of the computer system on Nar Shadaa. Normally this would have been a quick and easy task, but this time he faced an intriguing complication – the slicer was no ordinary woman. _She might be the one I need to take care of that little problem._ He clenched his teeth unconsciously as he informed his superiors that the slicer had been killed trying to escape and no longer posed a threat to the Empire.

"What did you do with the body?" Watcher Two asked. Cipher pressed his lips together, chagrined. How could he have forgotten that part? Only a brief pause preceded his reply.

"Nothing more than trash like that deserved. It's floating in space somewhere near Quesh, if I recall correctly."

"That 'trash' could have had useful information, Cipher. You should done a more thorough inspection before tossing it out the airlock."

_She's right about that part, _he chided himself. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from moving to the site where Imara had stabbed him with his own tranquilizer dart. _I should have noticed when she hid that thing up her sleeve. Damned smugglers._

"Humble apologies, Watcher. Allow me to make it up to you. Over dinner, perhaps?" He was not at all surprised when the woman scoffed at the invitation, but it was fun trying anyway. _Now I know why Kaliyo chose to follow me. Everyone else takes themselves WAY too seriously!_

"I don't have the time for that, Cipher, and neither do you. Since you have finally made it to Alderaan, we have another matter to discuss. Alderaan is governed by the wealthiest noble families in the galaxy. They've feuded for centuries, and are currently engaged in a full-scale war. Imperial Intelligence believes that one of the noble houses, or a noble within one of the houses, is financing the Eagle's terror network."

Summers absorbed the rest of the information, replying and asking questions as needed, then shut off the holocommunicator.

"Why did you tell her that?" Kaliyo inquired suspisciously after Watcher's projection vanished.

"Tell her what?" he evaded, then sidestepped further. "Don't you have to clean your guns or something?" The Rattataki grinned as if he had complimented her, then left the bridge. Had she bothered to look behind her, she would have noticed the image of a Sith Lord appear over the holoprojector, along with a large amount of data.

After almost a week of searching – when his official mission allowed time for it - and more than a few discreet favors called in, Summers finally found most of the information he was after. Most of his findings confirmed the concerns of his patron; a few revealed themselves to be false leads. The hardest part, of course, had been keeping things secret from Kaliyo. She might be a member of his crew, but he did not for an instant believe that made her at all loyal to him. If she found out what he was up to before he was ready, she might try to trade his corpse for a profit. _And I'm sure this level of treachery would turn quite a hefty one. But the Empire needs this more than it needs the current state of affairs. They just don't know it yet. _That was of course assuming Kaliyo didn't just think the whole thing was hilarious and see it as one more chance to snub authority. He fervently hoped it would be the latter when it did come time to include her in his plans.

With the research on the targets mostly completed, Summers turned his attention to the other side of the equation. _Captain Imara Goodspeed, hm? Freelancer to the Republic... let's start with the criminal records._ The history shown by the computer appeared fairly typical, except that it had no information dating earlier than three and a half years prior. He was fortunate enough to even find information on her ship. However, none of this was of any use to him if he had no way to enlist her aid. A search based on the surname yielded only one other person – the previous owner of the same ship, and apparently her father. _No mother, no siblings. That can't be right..._

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he rearranged the windows displayed over the console. The pieces were there; he just couldn't quite get them to fit together. He rubbed his eyes wearily, then got up to pace. _ A person doesn't just spring into existence fully grown. She had to have come from somewhere. What am I missing?_ His mind drifted to her utter distaste for the Empire, wondering again how anyone could so deeply hate someone they had never met. _Unless..._ Cipher flew back to the computer to input some new search parameters, waited a few minutes for the system to run the information, then stared in disbelief at the results as they appeared.

"How interesting..."

* * *

"Any reason you want that particular freighter, Mister Webb? Captain Goodspeed is a very busy woman. Her services don't come cheap." The Ortolan black marketeer pulled up another window on his datapad and prepared to list off names of smugglers he (_She?_ the man mused._ I can never tell with some races_) thought would be more suitable.

"I want to see if she's as good as her reputation, so we'll start with a simpler job first." _The best lie is one with a good measure of truth in it_, Summers – working under the psuedonym Webb – thought smugly. "Of course, you will not mention to her or anyone the prospect of a future job or my involvement in all this. Understood?"

The Ortolan bowed ubiquitously. "Of course, sir. We don't stay in business by telling our clients' secrets. And here on Hoth, going out of business means not being able to pay for heat. That's a death sentence. Rest assured, your secrets are safe with me."

"See that they are."

Back on his ship, Summers dialed up Imperial Intelligence on the holocommunicator. After impatiently going through the standard verification and security protocols, then waiting for another several minutes, Watcher Two's form finally appeared over the console. Despite her irritated expression, Summers gave her his best smile.

"Watcher Two. How lovely to see you again!"

"Cipher Nine. What can I do for you?" Her tone was coldly professional, as usual.

Cipher already had too much on his mind to take the opportunity to flirt with Watcher – his advances were invariably refused anyway – so he went straight to business. "I heard a disturbing rumor about a particularly tenacious terrorist cell working with Republic contacts on Tatooine. It's possible our missing Sith has gone to ground there. I would like to go investigate, but I'll need a Republic identity and some discretionary funds."

"I'll send a team immediately. Is there anything else to report?"

Cipher held his hands up in a "wait" gesture. "I was hoping to go myself. The rumor may be unfounded, and I don't want you to have to pull anyone from an assignment just to chase shadows."

Watcher looked at Summers carefully. "You just came back from a rough assignment yourself, Cipher. You're supposed to be recuperating."

"Watcher, I didn't know you cared!" Cipher had no trouble letting a touch of excitement into his tone. "If I had known you felt that way..." He grinned, presumably about the revelation, but just as much because she had taken the bait.

"Fine, you can go," she said hurriedly. "Report back if you discover anything. Watcher Two out." The projection disappeared before Cipher had a chance to thank her, which was probably just as well. He was having a hard enough time containing his laughter; a few short barks managed to escape despite his efforts. Kaliyo poked her head around the corner at the unusual sound and gave Cipher a curious look.

"You're not sick, are you? I had an akk dog once who made that sound right before its stomach burst. It ate some kind of parasite, and the thing grew inside until there wasn't any more room. It took weeks to get the smell out of the house."

Summers felt slightly ill just hearing the description. "That was gruesome, Kaliyo. No, I'm fine. Pack for warm weather. We're taking a trip to Tatooine."

"What for? Making up for this iceball?" The Rattataki gestured to the frozen planet slowly rotating in the viewscreen.

"I'm going to meet up with an old friend," was all the explanation he offered.


	4. Temptation

_Author's notes: I really hate repeating myself, but I get the feeling something bad will happen if I don't say AGAIN that I own no rights to this story, the characters, the universe in which they live... none of it. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want money, but I may not and will not accept anything other than reviews for this work. That said, please review! Honest, I do a little happy dance every time I get an email alert telling me someone thinks enough of my little project to leave a comment._

_- Laryn_

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**Temptation**

"Come on, people. This cargo won't haul itself. Or did you think the ship's storeroom replenishes itself with the Force?" Risha grumbled something about "peasant's work", but Corso and Bowdaar gamely helped Imara unload the crates – eight in all – to the buyer's warehouse outside Anchorhead. The twin suns of Tatooine made the work even harder than loading had been back on Hoth. Fortunately, the buyer had provided a few tokens for drinks at a dive nearby in addition to the payment. Everyone was sweating hard and looking forward to the break.

"So what do you think they're shipping, Captain?" Corso bantered. "Black market ice cream?" The small company laughed half-heartedly.

"Don't know, don't care," Imara replied after a moment. "The less we know about what we're shipping, the better. Or don't you remember the 'medicine' incident on Coruscant?" Corso winced at the memory, both from the moral and physical wounds he had sustained that day.

"'Medicine' incident?" asked Risha. "What happened?"

"Nothing you want to know about, your Highness," Corso answered quickly. Before Risha had a chance to argue, Imara cut in.

"Look, let's just finish this job, then we can head to the cantina. I'm buying." The rest of the crew nodded agreement and hastened to finish moving the cargo.

* * *

Several heads turned to watch the motley group of spacers enter the cantina, including one Imara and Bowdaar would have recognized if they had looked more closely.

_Damn. Of course she would bring all her friends along. Now how do I get rid of the others?_ Fortunately, the observer's well-developed sense of patience proved to be the deciding factor. The brunette with the elaborate hairdo was the first to rise from her stool. A few words from the captain had the wookie on his feet as well, and the pair headed for the exit. After another hour and several concerned glances at his friend, the soldier finally left the cantina as well. Seeing his chance had come, the man made his way over to the bar.

Imara moved to pay for another drink, but someone else's hand covered hers before she could give the vendor her credits. A whiff of cinnamon drifted past. She looked over and barely hid her shock as the Imperial Agent from a couple weeks back set some of his own credits on the counter and ordered a second drink for himself. In spite of the generous gesture, she couldn't bring herself to respond to his smiles with anything other than a scowl.

Mindful of the nearby patrons, Imara hissed at the agent, "You can't be here! What do you think you're doing?"

"I have just as much right to be here as you do. I'm with the Republic, too." His accent was conspicuously absent, but the lie rang just as hollowly in her ears.

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of the Sand People."

Summers bowed dramatically and replied, "Well then, your Majesty, I bid you greetings."

"What do you want? Spit it out."

"No time for pleasantries? Shame. I had so hoped we might be able to catch up first." He gave her what most would consider a tender smile, but it only made Imara's stomach threaten to lose its contents.

"Very well, to business. I have a little proposition for you."

"And what makes you think you have anything I want?"

"I guess that remains to be seen. But I'm fairly certain you'd like a chance to get back at the ones who hurt you." He leaned in close so only she could hear his next words. "Huldar, perhaps?"

The stiffening of her spine was all he needed to confirm his findings. He lingered for a moment to take in her scent – an odd mixture of clean shower, dusty traveler, oiled metal, and that wonderful smell unique to human women – then straightened. Summers nodded toward the table he had vacated only moments before. It was still empty, courtesy of a large man nearby – well-paid in advance for his services making sure no one would interrupt or eavesdrop on the conversation he hoped he would be having. "I'll be over there when you have time to chat."

Imara took a deep breath after the Agent-in-disguise left, then another. Once her pulse had slowed to something more closely resembling normal, she turned the situation over in her head. _So __he knows about my past. Big deal. It's not like I went to any great length to cover it up. What could he do with that information anyway? Still... I may as well find out what he's up to. I probably won't get this opportunity again._ She sighed heavily before draining the last of her drink, then went to join the Imperial at his table.

Summers pointedly avoided staring as Imara approached. It wouldn't do to intimidate her, after all. Most people wouldn't be intimidated by a slender man standing just under two meters, but most people didn't know who he was and what he could do. When she finally sat down, eyeing him warily the whole time, he signaled for another pair of drinks, then waited for Imara to speak first. He had laid out the bait already. All that remained was to see what she would do with it. The pair sat silently, watching each other, until the serving girl brought the drinks. Imara thanked her, then turned back to her counterpart.

"Well?" she finally asked.

"Well what?" Cipher returned.

Imara leaned forward, quite obviously not interested in bantering. "Don't give me that. You wanted to talk. So talk."

Summers sat back in his chair with a small grin, enjoying the game. "Oh... where to start? It's at least two degrees cooler today than yesterday, if the weather report can be believed."

Recognizing the power play for what it was – calmer people tend to win arguments, so upsetting the other party usually works in one's favor – Imara forced herself to relax and breathe more slowly. "For all the difference that makes. It's still hot enough to fry an egg on my ship's hull. What brings you to this planet anyway? It's hardly tourist season."

"I had to supervise a shipment from Hoth." Cipher's smile widened as his words unbalanced the smuggler again. "You just can't trust anyone these days, you know?" He shook his head in mock sadness.

"I should have known that was you. Your type never could leave well enough alone. You always have to show up where you're not wanted, thinking you can improve things which work just fine as they are."

"My type?" He raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware there were more like me. Do I have competition for your affection?"

It was Imara's turn to grin. "Yeah, you're in the running with a Gamorrean runt, a mangy bantha, and a Tythonian Flesh Raider. So far the bantha is winning."

Summers laughed in spite of the insult. "You certainly know how to make a man feel welcome, my dear. All that 'Yes sir, no sir, right away sir' gets old after a while."

"Well you certainly don't have to worry about hearing that from me." Imara wrinkled her nose in disgust at the notion. "I did more than my share of that after..." She trailed off, immediately regretting taking the conversation in that direction.

"After Huldar arrived on your homeworld and stole your life," Summers finished for her.

"Yeah, that," Imara replied heavily as she swirled the contents of her glass around. She looked up at the agent again, mistrust evident in her expression. "As far as I can tell, that worked in your favor. What do _you_ have against that creep?"

"First off, he and I have a strong difference of opinion about how people – any sentient species - should be treated."

_Not a bad actor. He almost looks upset about what the Balmorrans went through. I bet they teach that at Agent School, too,_ Imara thought cynically. "And second?"

"Cipher Five – Huldar - has been an embarrasment to Imperial Intelligence for almost a decade. He was the youngest Agent to join, and it went to his head. Worse, his ego and rash behavior have cost many good men their lives. Trust me, he won't be missed. Unfortunately, Headquarters frowns on Agents killing each other, so I need a deniable asset. I need _you._ Besides, there's a sort of poetic justice in him dying at your hands, don't you agree?"

Imara couldn't help but nod agreement with the agent's assessment. That certainly sounded like the man she knew from so many years before, once he had revealed his true identity. She laughed lightly as she recalled their last encounter. "He's a coward too, did you know that?"

"We had reason to suspect as much, but no hard evidence has emerged to support that theory. What happened?" He folded his hands and leaned in to listen.

In spite of her dislike for the man across the table, Imara told him how she and her mentor had taken down four guards and very nearly the other agent with nothing more than standard-issue work clothes and stolen blasters. Summers' eyes widened with each blow recounted – none of this had been in the official report. According to the records, Huldar's squad had been defeated by a group of about ten terrorists – armed and armored - which had broken off from one of the main groups during the attacks on several of the construction sites the day before. Imara choked on her drink when he told her as much. Summers got up to help her, but she waved him off. When she finally cleared her lungs and restored sight in her good eye, she gave Summers a look filled with such incredulity that he involuntarily moved backward.

"So I'd be doing you a favor if I got rid of that piece of roth-dung." He nodded, pleased with himself for presenting such a tempting lure. "Great, but somehow I don't expect you to have packed him away on your ship for my convenience. What's the catch?"

He quickly swallowed the first words that came to mind, reminding himself to keep this professional, then carefully outlined the rest of the task. By the time he finished, Imara was staring at him as if he had told her it was snowing outside.

"But... why? You're on the same side. You're all..." she fumbled for words.

"Yes, that is technically true, but not all of us have the best interest of the Empire at heart. I'm sorry to say you've dealt with a very poor representation of our society. Most are decent people, much like your Republic could be, if they would only stand unified as we do. _Most _of us, anyway. These people in particular – whose identities I will disclose later - are a cancer that eats away at the Empire with their petty squabbles and bids for personal power. Eliminate them, and we have a chance to be a truly great civilization."

"Right. Once you stop fighting each other, then you can turn and wipe out the Galactic Republic. I may not be a loyal soldier, but I'm no traitor. I won't help you." She started to get up to leave.

Summers reached across the table and caught her hand. "Aren't you tired of war? Imagine what Balmorra would look like if we were all on the same side." Her other hand slammed down on the table, narrowly missing his face as it descended and startling half the patrons in the room. He counted himself lucky she had done that instead of pulling her blaster.

She tore her hand away from him and growled through clenched teeth, "You think I would sell out my home, my people, for some parody of peace? In case you forgot, I've seen firsthand how you treat conquered worlds. I would rather die than have to go through that again. And I will NOT let anyone else go through that if I can help it."

"You're right," he agreed, looking around to make sure everyone else had gone back to their own business. "That should never have happened. That was a result of the cancer. Help me get rid of it, of them, and you solve both our problems."

They sat in silence as she digested this new bit of information. As before, a serving girl brought them a fresh round of drinks, sensed the tense atmosphere, and hastily moved on to the next customers. Finally Imara looked up, her expression unreadable.

"Why me? I'm sure there are tons of people right there on..." She caught herself before naming the planet – it wouldn't be good for anyone to accidentally overhear the name. "...on that world to help you with this. Why would you spend all this effort to find _me_? I don't even like you!"

"That's exactly it. You have no loyalties to anyone there, and contrary to good sense, I'm pretty sure you're not afraid of any of them either. At home, I can't be sure who is loyal to whom, not even with the information to which I have access. Almost everyone has their own agenda or is a toady for someone else. The rest don't have the skills to accomplish anything like what needs to be done."

"What about you? What makes _you_ the glorious exception?"

Summers held his hands out wide. "Guilty as charged." He folded his hands in front of him again and leaned forward. "The truth is, my dear, _everyone_ has some agenda or other. Even you. Even me. It's just a matter of finding two which are compatible. The way I see it, it's quite simple. We both want these people removed from power, for the good of trillions of others and for our own personal reasons. The only thing standing in the way of our goals is your personal bias..." he made a calming gesture when she started shaking her head angrily, "however well-founded that bias may be."

He stood then, signaling the close of the conversation. "I don't know what others in the Empire have done to you, nor is it any of my business. But you should know by now I am not like them." He pushed a scrap of paper (_Paper! How quaint!_ Imara almost laughed) across the table to the still-seated smuggler. "If you decide you want to close that part of your past for good, I'll be waiting at these coordinates. Don't be too long though. I'm leaving in six hours with or without you."

Imara smiled mockingly at him. "You just said you _can't_ do this without me."

"I said you're the best person for the job. What would I be if I didn't have a contingency plan?"

The question was rhetorical, but she answered it anyway. "Probably dead."

"Too true," he said simply. He turned to leave, but was stopped as she spoke up behind him.

"Just one more question." He faced her and waited. "What's your name?"

"Why do you want to know?" he inquired in a neutral tone.

"If we're going to be working together, I should at least know your name. It's kind of weird calling you 'Agent' all the time. Besides, it's only fair, considering how much you know about me."

Summers paused to consider the question for a moment, then smirked at her.

"'Cipher'. My name is 'Cipher'."


	5. Companions

_Author's notes: Nope, I still can't take credit for anything other than the ability to move my fingers across the keyboard and make letters appear in the correct sequence. Actually, I take even less credit for this chapter, due the the brief introduction of someone else's OOC. You'll know her when you see the name, if you've been paying attention to the AN's in previous chapters. So without further ado, here's chapter five. Read, enjoy, and let me know what you think._

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**Companions**

"How did he know about all that?" Imara wondered aloud for perhaps the twentieth time on her way back to the ship. She veered the speeder sharply around a pack of womp rats which had been invisible behind the dune she just crested. They gave chase, but she had no trouble outrunning them. Thinking aloud, she muttered, "There should be no way those two records were connected. Imara Mathon died. How did he... damn. Damned Imperials, always sticking their noses where they don't belong." She glanced behind her to make sure she had shaken off the creatures. "Still, it might be fun to go in and do some damage. Opportunities like this don't come along every day." Finally having reached a decision, Imara smiled and cruised easily over the last few kilometers to Anchorhead.

Within a few minutes, the speeder was stowed in the cargo hold and the crew was gathered in the communications room.

"What's this about, Captain?" Corso began the conversation. "Was there something wrong with the delivery? It looked like everything went well." He looked around worriedly. "Don't tell me there was an issue with the cargo. Bowdaar and I can hold them off while you get the ship ready for takeoff." He nudged the wookie, who roared agreement.

"Relax, soldier-boy. It's probably just a followup job," commented Risha, sounding bored. "So what's the big deal? Do we have to smuggle weapons past Coruscant security? It has to be a big job to pull us all up here."

Imara folded her arms and waited, trying hard to summon the patience her mentor had taught her. When the speculations finally died down, she answered simply, "No, yes, and no." After enjoying their confused expressions for a moment (_Why did I ever agree to take on a crew anyway? Never a moment's peace!),_ she went into more detail.

"The delivery went perfectly. In fact, we might get repeat business from him. I do have another job to take care of, but it's not a big one. In fact, it's a personal thing, and I'm going alone." She had her hand up before Corso even opened his mouth to protest. Looking at Risha, she added, "This job isn't going to make us any money anyway. It's just something I've been wanting to deal with for a while and finally got the chance."

"That doesn't matter, Captain," argued Corso. "You're going to need someone along to watch your back..."

"Or don't you trust us?" interrupted Risha.

"I trust you enough to take a few profitable jobs while I'm gone." Imara turned to Corso and added, "And I trust _you_ to make sure my ship and crew get back to me intact." Ignoring Risha's scandalized expression, she addressed Bowdaar last. "You gonna be ok, big guy? I'm not violating some wookie code of honor by leaving you behind, am I?"

"I do not like the idea of you facing danger alone, but I will honor your request. You faced many dangers for me, so I know you are strong enough to beat any enemies you come against." The others were stunned by the wookie's eloquence – this was the most Corso or Risha had ever heard him say all at once, and even Imara rarely heard him speak so much in a single conversation. She only wished she felt as confident in her abilities as Bowdaar did. She almost hated to bring up the next part of what she had planned to tell them, since it would cast doubt on her chances of survival.

After a few deep breaths and a grateful smile at Bowdaar for his encouragement, she finally managed to give them the last of her instructions before she left. "I'll be back within three weeks. If there's some kind of emergency, call Captain Dace." She pointed to a preset frequency on the comm terminal. "She's a good friend of mine. She'll know how to take care of things."

"Captain _Raya_ Dace?" Risha asked incredulously. "She's about as crazy as you are."

Imara grinned mischeviously, then shrugged. "Of course. Why do you think we get along so well?" Risha shook her head and was about to offer her opinion, but then figured it wasn't worth the trouble. Shaking her head again, she left the room. The rest of the small gathering followed suit, heading off to their customary stations.

* * *

Later as Imara was packing a small bag, Corso caught on to what Imara had hinted. He sprinted to her quarters, not even bothering to knock when he arrived.

"Are you saying you might not come back from this?"

"Nice to see you too. There something you need?" Imara didn't look up from what she was doing.

"Answer the question." Imara caught the concerned urgency in his voice and decided humor wasn't a good way to respond this time. She finally set the bag aside to give her friend her full attention.

"There's always that possibility, flyboy. You should know that better than anyone."

"Then you're not going alone," he told her with finality. "If I can make sure you make it back safely, then I'm going with you."

"Looks like _you_ don't trust _me,_" Imara teased him, referring to the earlier accusation Risha had leveled against her. On an impulse, she stood up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "You worry too much, Corso. I'll be fine. I've been on my own for a long time. Besides, I need you here. You know what this ship means to me, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have looking after her." Taking his stunned silence as acquiesence, she went back to her travel preparations. Less than an hour later, she was speeding back across the desert to the coordinates the agent had given her.

"We wondered if you were going to make it." A fair-skinned man with dark hair and large black eyes – all pupil, it seemed – accosted Imara as she neared the rendezvous point. After many leisure trips, as well as her more recent business trip, to Alderaan, Imara recognized the Joiner for what he was and pulled out her blaster. To the best of her knowledge, no Joiners or Killiks worked with the Republic or allies of the Republic. Before she was able to press the button on her stealth field generator, the Joiner had dipped into a formal bow. Obviously fighting wasn't on his mind, so she pulled her left hand away from her belt, although her right remained ready with the blaster. She had left the rented speeder two kilometers away at the waystation, so outrunning this person was not an option.

"We apologize for startling you. Cipher would have come himself, but a call came in just as he was about to leave."

"Cipher who?" she asked warily.

"You are Captain Imara Goodspeed, are you not? You match the description exactly, and have arrived at the designated location within the specified time period."

Imara nodded. "Great. At least I know you're not some random Imperial here to make trouble for me." Imara holstered her blaster and crossed her arms. "You got a name?"

"We are Vector Hyllus, Dawn Herald of the Oroboro nest and crew member of the Phantom, under the command of Cipher Nine." He bowed again. It was less formal this time, but Imara still rolled her eyes. She ignored the "Dawn Herald" part, having no idea what that meant, but her curiosity was piqued when he claimed to be assigned to Cipher's ship. She was pretty sure he hadn't been there last time she was onboard.

_No harm in asking,_ she figured. "How long have you been a member of the crew?"

Vector motioned for them to start walking toward the ship, explaining along the way. "Less than a week. Imperial Intelligence and the hive had a common goal to accomplish, so Cipher was working with us for nine days. After that, we..." the Joiner closed his eyes to recenter his thoughts. "I was assigned to work with him on a more permanent basis."

Imara pursed her lips. "I'm surprised the hive let you go. I didn't think Joiners were allowed to do things on their own."

Vector's black eyes met Imara's green one. "There are many myths and misunderstandings surrounding the Killik culture. Not long ago, the humanoid species thought we were merely larger versions of common insects. The hive saw the advantage of assimilating some humanoids into the hive to use as liasons – Joiners – instead of using them all for nourishment. Although we are part of the hive, we are still essentially ourselves."

"And the Empire decided it would be a good idea to bring you back," Imara guessed. "Between you and Kaliyo, that agent has some interesting crewmates."

"Cipher does have a habit of picking up unusual traveling companions, it seems. We would hardly have expected a Republic privateer to join the group." They rounded a series of boulders and had to shield their eyes from the larger sun's reflection from a familiar vessel. "We're here." Vector motioned for Imara to follow him to the ship, then climbed the ramp. Imara swallowed once, took a deep breath, and hurried after him.

Cipher had just finished a quiet conversation with his contact when the hatch opened. He had hoped he would have time to brief Kaliyo – the thought of her many possible reactions still made him nervous, so he had put it off as long as possible – but now that opportunity was gone. To be honest, he hadn't expected Imara to arrive so soon. It was clear she had no love for him or the Empire he served, so spending any more time here than she had to was surprising; they wouldn't be ready to leave for another two hours.

Almost as if she were responding to his thoughts, Imara appeared in the doorway, put one hand on her hip, looked him in the eye, and announced, "Well, I'm here. Let's get this over with." Cipher took a minute to consider the newcomer, nodded thanks to Vector, then smiled. He had a nagging feeling this was going to be a difficult trip, but was determined to make the best of it. "Good of you to join us, Imara. I apologize for my lack of courtesy, but I have a staggering amount of paperwork to finish, and all of it is expected soon. You can stow your belongings in my quarters. I trust you remember where they are." Turning back to the console, he added, "Please, make yourself at home."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll bunk in the crew quarters. Just point the way, and I'll be out of your hair."

"I wouldn't recommend that." He sighed, keeping his back to her. "But if you insist, the crew quarters are down the hall you just came through. Turn right at the engine room." She was walking away before he had even finished speaking. Feeling more sting from her rejection than he cared to admit to himself, Summers focused again on his work until his pale shadow returned from the bridge.

"What's she doing here? I thought we dumped her and that hairball back in the Core Worlds." Kaliyo leaned forward on the communication console to look Cipher in the face. "Does Watcher know about this?"

"No, and I'd just as soon keep it that way for now." Summers didn't look up from the multiple chunks of data hovering in front of him. "Does failing to report a change of plans to Intelligence bother you?"

Predictably, Kaliyo laughed derisively before answering that it didn't bother her at all. "As for what she's doing here," Cipher explained, "I have an assignment which requires her rather uncommon talents."

"Yeah, I _bet_ you want her talents," Kaliyo replied lewdly, sneering. "Just what sort of 'mission' is this anyway? This'd be the first I've heard of it."

Summers considered the question, trying to figure out just how to phrase his answer. "I think you'll like this one. We're going to cause some trouble back home." The Rattataki's laughter echoed throughout the ship. When he gave her a truncated version of the mission objectives, she laughed even harder.

Imara looked up as the sound drifted to the rear of the ship, then went back to shuffling her pazaak deck. _Probably torturing a small animal or something. _She shuddered, then dealt the cards to Vector, who was seated across from her.

"You said you've played this before?"

"Yes, but that was many years ago, before joining the hive. Killiks have no need of recreational activities of this sort; there is always work to be done."

The smuggler grinned at her opponent. "Welcome back to independent living and free time. As much as the Empire gives you, anyway." She barely hid her distaste for the latter concept as she took her fourth and final card. _A +/-2. This should be a good match._ "You start."

Vector drew a card, then opened with an eight. "The Empire actually does very little to restrict the activities of its citizens."

Imara stared at the Joiner for a long while before realizing it was her turn. Laying down the five she had just drawn, she couldn't help but laugh. "Where in all the galaxy did you get _that_ idea?! Heh. I guess in comparison to a Killik hive, even the Empire would seem lenient. Most people wouldn't agree, though."

He also placed a five on the table. "We should have expected that. You have been listening to Republic propaganda, correct?"

Imara drew a seven and laid it down in front of her. "I'm surprised Cipher hasn't told you. He's not very good with sharing information, is he?" Vector shook his head as he played a ten, both in answer to her question and at his poor luck during the first set. Imara laughed as she cleared the cards, then opened the new set with a nine. "Not surprising. That's restricted too, just like everything else."

"_You're_ still walking around free," came a woman's voice from the doorway. Both players looked up to see Kaliyo standing there, idly flipping a knife around in her hand.

"Despite your best effort," Imara taunted. She glanced back at Vector, who was sitting motionless, clearly sensing the tension in the air. "Your turn." After he drew and set down a six, she placed a two on the table, then looked at Kaliyo again. "Don't be mad. I'm just good at what I do." She barely had time to move the hand resting on the table before Kaliyo's knife ricocheted off the metal where that hand had been. The blade skittered across the floor, bounced off the far wall, and came to a rest halfway back to the table.

"So am I," the pale woman snarled. "I've been killing 'Pubbies for a long time. You may have Cipher convinced you're worth something, but you and I both know you don't belong here." Imara fought the impulse to draw her blaster and shoot the woman right then and there. Bloodshed within the first hour in a new place was generally bad for business, even if the other person started it. Having a potential enemy at her back didn't improve her chances of winning, either.

Instead, Imara stood up and closed with Kaliyo until the two were scant centimeters apart. "Then stay out of my way so I can do my job. I don't want to be here any more than you want me here."

"So why did you come?"

"I have my own reasons." Imara pushed past her rival, having spoken her piece. Kaliyo moved over to view the cards the redhead had left on the table: a three, a five, and a six, in addition to the +/-2.

"One good card, and she thinks she's won the whole match." She snatched up her knife, then stalked out of the room.

Finally free of the discord created by the two women, Vector let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He carefully stacked the cards and returned them to the pocket in which Imara had originally stored them, then sat back to once again ponder the vast differences between the regimented but harmonious life he had left and the exciting, but chaotic, life he now led.


	6. Assault

_Author's notes: Before some Sith tries to Force Choke me through my computer, I want to make it abundantly clear I own no rights to anything written here. As always, your thoughts are welcome in the reviews section - I may even incorporate an idea you present into later chapters. For those of you following along as chapters are published (thank you!), Happy Thanksgiving! To everyone else, Happy Whatever-holiday-is-closest._

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**Assault**

An odd humming noise from her right brought Imara most of the way awake. With the level of trust she had in the other people occupying the ship, she had been sleeping lightly anyway. Good thing, too. She saw a pair of pale hands holding a vibroblade above her, getting ready to slice her in half. Imara rolled quickly to her left, but still felt a burning pain as the blade sliced her back open from her right shoulder to her left lower ribs. The blow severed the muscles in its path, shaved the inside corner of the right shoulder blade, and chipped half the ribs. Imara knew none of this, feeling only fire in her back and a ringing in her ears from someone screaming. Even this faded away when she eventually lost consciousness, unaware even of rolling back the other way and falling to the floor with a dull thud.

Vector was already awake and moving when the blade tore through the newest addition to the hive. _Crew_, he reminded himself. _These are not Killiks._ Before the crazed Rattataki had a chance to finish off the woman lying on the floor, Vector reached around to take the sword from her grasp. Had he not taken her by surprise, he doubted he could have managed it so easily. With his opponent disarmed, he considered reasoning with her, but then discarded the idea. Imara didn't have time for that, nor did her assailant seem inclined to conversation at the moment. A lightning blow with the hilt to Kaliyo's temple ended the conflict.

Looking over at Kaliyo and her victim, he realized his work was not yet done. _What do we know about healing?_ Vector silently asked before remembering the great distance separating him from the rest of the hive. He would have to make do with the resources and knowledge available on the ship. Of course, the one with the most experience in that field...

"Cipher!" he yelled as he checked Kaliyo's neck for a pulse. Finding a steady beat, he moved over to the auburn smuggler. "Your skills are needed here!" _Pressure. We're supposed to apply pressure somewhere to stop the bleeding. _He looked in dismay at the gash as long as his forearm. _But where? Or are we supposed to administer a kolto pack first? Damn. How do uni-minded species ever manage to get anything done?_ Rapid footfalls interrupted his thoughts, followed by Cipher's form appearing in the doorway. The man stopped to survey the scene in the room, then swiftly set into action. Noting Kaliyo's regular breathing, he bypassed her entirely to tend to the more critical wounds of his guest.

"What happened here?" was the only thing he said as he started a kolto infusion and began inspecting the wound. Summers listened with half an ear as Vector recounted the brief struggle, already suspecting the truth. After he finished speaking, Vector stepped back and waited patiently for further instructions. He watched, fascinated, as the agent methodically cleaned and closed each section of the injury. When the work was finally done, Cipher turned to face the Joiner directly.

"Take her to the medbay. Carefully. It won't take much for that to reopen. Make sure she stays facedown." Sure his instructions would be followed, he finally moved over to his first crew member to check her status. _Just a concussion. No brain damage, no other injuries._ He felt an irrational surge of anger knowing this one had sustained so little damage when her victim would have died in another minute without treatment. With an effort, he pushed down that feeling, gave her an injection of kolto, and gently laid her back in her own bunk. After making sure Kaliyo's condition was stable, he got up and left the room, sealing the door behind him.

* * *

Imara woke slowly, feeling a stiffness in her right shoulder and wondering why she was lying on her stomach, topless except for a sheet. She tried to lift her left elbow to push herself onto her side, but it wouldn't respond. She had been dreaming someone attacked her, but that wasn't unusual. Now she wasn't so sure it had been a dream this time. Of more immediate concern was her seeming immobility. Being injured she could handle, but being helpless was something else entirely. A twinge of panic wormed its way into her consciousness. A familiar voice only hastened its progress.

"Good, you're awake. I was beginning to worry you weren't as tough as I had been led to believe."

"I can take anything the galaxy can dish out," Imara boasted, realizing afterward how ridiculous she sounded lying paralyzed in a medical facility. "Umm... why can't I move?"

"Terribly sorry about that, my dear. Some of your muscles were severed, and moving around would have caused more damage, so I had to find a way to keep you still from the neck down."

"When does it wear off?" Imara prepared to cut the timeframe the agent gave her in half.

"As soon as I remove the inhibitor. Your, ah, unusual physiology combined with your wound and blood loss made the standard anesthetic an undesirable approach."

"Oh." The sense of panic grew more pronounced, threatening to overwhelm her. She fought back with the most potent tool in her arsenal – anger. "So you get that woman to slice me open so you can play hero, is that it? Try to get me to trust you? Or was all this just an excuse to get me back here so you can finish what you started? Dromund Kaas! Why in all the worlds would I want to go back there?! What was I..." she cut her tirade short when Summers rose from his seat and approached her. "Wha-what are you doing?" Real fear was evident in her voice now. She had just started a fight, and couldn't do anything about it if he decided to retaliate. It took tremendous willpower to keep her eyes open when he extended his hands. Much to her surprise, his left gently pushed an errant strand of hair back from her face, while his right removed the inhibitor attached to the back of her neck. Then he knelt to look her in the eye.

"To the best of my knowledge, Kaliyo acted of her own accord. She certainly wasn't following any instructions I gave her – quite the opposite. Rest assured she will be dealt with. As for you, if you do not wish to go to Dromund Kaas, I will honor that decision. Right now though, you need to rest."

"I want to go back to my ship. Now." Imara gritted her teeth against the pain of trying to push herself up, then gave up as the pain became too intense.

"I'm afraid I can't do that just yet."

"Why not? You just said..."

"I said I will not force you to go to Dromund Kaas. I cannot take you back to your crew though, not as you are. Call it self-preservation."

Imara started to laugh until the minor convulsions made her stop. "That's true. If you thought Bowdaar was mad before, you've got another thing coming. He swore a life-debt."

"Really? Why did he do that?"

"Well, back on Nar Shadaa..." _This man is tricky, _Imara scolded herself. "You're right, I need to get some rest." She closed her left eye, but kept her cybernetic one active to watch the agent. Cipher recognized the verbal dodge for what it was – he had used that technique countless times himself – but decided to play along. He quietly got to his feet and left the room, instructing Vector to monitor the equipment and inform him of any changes. He had other matters to attend to. _I suppose this means Kaliyo will be joining me if I go planetside. _

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"I can do the job just as well as anyone else," Kaliyo complained. She had heeded Cipher's request the next morning to meet him in the briefing room, but she was clearly not happy about it. Her mood had only worsened when he started speaking. _Leave her alone? We're supposed to be fighting the Republic, not sneaking them into the Capital!_ "Why do you need to bring in some Republic scum to take care of this? Why didn't you ask me in the first place?"

"Because she can get in and out without being seen. Even if she does get caught, they don't know her. Her activity won't be traced back to me. You don't have that advantage."

"Dead men can't tell anyone what they've seen." She reached for her favorite knife, then remembered Cipher had ordered all weapons secured after the previous night's incident. _Not like I need weapons to finish off that little tramp,_ she snarled inwardly. _I just need thirty seconds alone with her..._

Summers worked hard to quell his frustration with his savage shipmate. "If we kill _all_ of them, that will create even more chaos. We're trying to make things better, not worse."

"A little chaos might be good for the Empire." Kaliyo shrugged carelessly, crossing her arms. "Things are getting boring."

"Do you always attack allies when you're bored? That's incredibly short-sighted. As far as the mission is concerned, we need to remove specific targets. Your lack of discretion proves you're not capable of handling this task."

Kaliyo shrugged again and decided to try a different approach. "I don't like her. She doesn't belong here."

"I don't care _what_ you think of her, that's no excuse to attack a member of my crew."

"Then there's no problem, Summers," Kaliyo sneered. "She's not a member of your crew."

Summers closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "First, I know I have told you not to call me that. Second, she _is_ part of the crew for the time being. Besides..." Whatever he had been about to say was cut off as a too-near explosion rocked the ship. "We'll continue this later," he told Kaliyo, throwing in a hard look for good measure. "Get to your post." Then he was off at a run toward the bridge.

"Report," he ordered the Joiner.

Vector didn't look up from the controls as he calmly evaded the second volley. "The ship's autopilot disengaged hyperdrive because a position shift of the nearby asteroid field put it right in our path. It also appears the Republic is using this field for military maneuvers."

"This day just keeps getting better and better," Cipher muttered. "Continue evasive actions. Get us out of here."

"You won't make it through that in one piece," came a new voice from the entrance to the bridge. Both men looked up to see the smuggler leaning against the entryway.

"You're supposed to be resting," Cipher chided.

"Yeah well, all the commotion made it a little hard to sleep." Her words were illustrated by a sudden lurch to the left as Vector pulled the Phantom through another roll in an attempt to avoid enemy fire. Cipher conceded the point, opting to focus on her initial statement.

"What makes you think my ship can't handle this? You've had a good look at it. This is some of the Empire's finest work." He ran his hand over the bulkhead, then fell against it as the ship lurched again.

"Unless the Empire's 'finest work' is much farther ahead than everyone thinks, even this ship won't survive four... _five_," she corrected after checking the viewscreen again, "Republic capital ships, two dozen frigates, and stars know how many fighters."

"Do you have a better plan?" Cipher challenged. "Or are you just here to harass me?"

Her answering grin was simultaneously comforting and unsettling. "Watch and learn, flyboy. You're about to see a real professional at work." Her expression became more serious as she took charge of the situation. "All stop. Get that crazy bitch off the guns. And keep the comm room clear." Summers gave her a doubtful expression, but decided her method – whatever it was - was no less likely to succeed than the current course of action. He moved to the intercom to pass on the instructions to Kaliyo, then waited just outside the range of the holocommunicator to watch Imara's plan unfold.

It only took a few seconds for the slicer to activate the communication panel, during which the ship was hit twice more. She didn't have to fake the urgency in her voice when she hailed the lead capital ship.

"Cease fire! Cease fire! This is Republic privateer Imara Goodspeed hailing Republic forces. I say again, cease fire!" To the amazement of the Imperials on board, the barrage stopped halfway through her second attempt, and a man's figure appeared over the holoprojector.

"Miss Goodspeed..."

"Captain."

"_Captain_ Goodspeed, please stand by while we confirm your identity."

"Aw come on," she teased. "How can you forget a face like this?" The commander ignored her while his ship's computer processed the request. After what felt like an eternity, it finally delivered the information to the commander.

"My apologies, Captain," he said after scanning the report. "You appear in the middle of a war game while flying an enemy vessel – I'm sure you can understand our reaction. Why did you fire on us instead of hailing first? I lost a lot of good men just now."

"Sorry about that." Imara folded her hands, looking sincerely sorry. "I still don't have the controls figured out, and when you attacked the computer took over and shot back before I could get things back to manual control."

The commander's eyes widened. "That was the _computer_? I knew the Imperials had better toys, but this takes it to a whole new level." He shook his head in disbelief, then looked up at her again. "How did you get that ship in the first place?"

Imara allowed a mischevious smile to tilt her mouth, then put her hand on her hips. "I stole it," she replied in an almost sing-song voice. "Stupid Imperials back on Tatooine left the hatch wide open and only a couple soldiers guarding it. One of them... _fell asleep_ on guard, and the other was no challenge." She shrugged. "I was trying to figure out the controls when the thing went nuts. I think I finally have the hang of it though."

The man in the image rubbed his bare cheek thoughtfully. "Probably some kind of anti-theft mechanism. It looked like you were on a heading directly for Imperial territory. Good thing we were here." Imara fought to keep from rolling her eyes at his self-satisfied tone. "Congratulations on your accomplishment, Captain. You've procured a valuable asset for the Republic. I'll be sure to include that in my report. If you would care to dock, I will arrange transportation the the Fleet for you and any crew members you may have on board."

Cipher Nine narrowed his eyes, thinking he had been betrayed. He turned and was just about to instruct Vector to engage the engines when Imara spoke again.

"No thanks."

"I... I beg your pardon?" The commander's voice echoed Cipher's confusion.

Imara folded her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to the other leg. "Like I told you, I'm a privateer. Not a soldier, not a citizen. I'm independent. _I_ nabbed this ship without any help from the Republic, so I see no reason why I should share the spoils."

The commander opened his arms to indicate the many ships surrounding the Phantom. "I should think this would be reason enough. I really don't want to have to use force against a 'friendly' target," neither of the people listening missed the cold emphasis on the word, "but I will if it's necessary. You have an incredibly advanced piece of machinery in your possession – machinery which could give the Republic an edge. I'm taking it, one way or another."

"You won't do that," Imara informed him confidently. "Your records show I called for a cease fire, then you recognized me as an ally. It would be career suicide to open fire on me now. That's even assuming you managed to shoot me down."

"If you were that confident in the ship's abilities, why call for a cease fire?" The commander sounded certain he had caught the smuggler in a bluff.

"I don't like getting shot at," Imara replied, smirking. "And I'm not gonna just hand over my prize." Summers stifled a laugh as the black-and-white image's face turned a darker shade of grey. "Now if you'll excuse me," she concluded, "I have to go see a Rodian about a dog."

The commander sputtered for nearly ten seconds before he managed, "You've made a very poor choice, Goodspeed."

"Sure thing, Commander," she replied airily. "Good fortune!" She reached down and snapped off the comm signal as the man prepared to say something else, then turned and rested both hands behind her on the projector.

"Well?" The smuggler smiled brightly when the agent applauded. She blushed slightly, then added, "It's hard to be humble, knowing how great I am."

"Indeed. You even had me fooled for a minute. Too bad you don't work with the Empire. You would have made one hell of an agent." Summers meant it as a compliment, but the shadow that crossed her suddenly somber face made it clear she found the comparison less than flattering. Only then did he recall what little he had learned of her past and realize his mistake. Seeing no way to recover the situation, he cleared his throat and called to Vector. "Get us out of here. The further we are from all those guns pointed at us, the better."

"Yes sir."


	7. Strange Bedfellows

_Author's notes: I know, things tend to move a bit slowly for some readers. Sorry. I promise we're getting to the main plot. In the meantime, I hope you're having as much fun reading the character development as I am writing it. I have been carefully reading the few reviews people have left (thank you!) and discussing possible plot twists and outcomes with the principles. The story will unfold as they see fit, but I do have some small say in its progress. By the way, if you want more details on Summers' history, go read the account he gave FrictionX42. (Fanfiction dot net won't let me link to another story in their own site - sorry. The fic is pretty easy to find, though.)_

_Obligatory disclaimer: I have no legal rights of ownership of anyone or anything in this story. Slavery is wrong anyway._

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**Strange Bedfellows**

"Alright." Imara said suddenly. She was healing quickly, but neither she nor the Agent – the only ones on the ship with any real medical expertise – believed she was ready to start her mission yet. Unfortunately, the boredom that caused was beginning to make her restless, so she would often start conversations with Cipher or Vector. Vector had no trouble adapting, since he was never truly alone anyway, but Cipher found the relative lack of quiet irritating. _Oh well, at least they're interesting conversations for a change._

Imara began, "Time to even the playing field."

Cipher looked up from his datapads. He doubted she meant physically – _What good would that do anyone?_ - but remained on alert anyway. Some people were less rational than others. "How do you mean?"

"You seem to know a lot about my past, but I know almost nothing about you. We're working as equals this time, and that requires trust." She stretched as she spoke, trying to keep her muscles limber. "You want me to trust you, I need to know more about who I'm dealing with."

Cipher looked back at the datapads arranged in front of him, quietly considering her words (and doing his best to ignore her figure!) as he move a few chunks of text from one to another. After a minute or two, he set them aside and turned to face her again. _This one has a good head on her shoulders. I certainly can't fault her logic there._ "What is it you want to know? I'm sure you realize there are some questions I cannot answer."

"Nothing like that." She waved off the notion. "Just basic stuff."

"Like what?"

"Well, for starters, what did you do before you were an agent?"

"I was a soldier." His tone indicated he didn't want to discuss that particular topic, but Imara pressed anyway.

"A soldier? That's not so bad. Why would you want to quit doing that? All you have to do is follow orders and shoot where you're told."

"You've never seen war firsthand, have you?" Cipher asked.

"What do you think I've been doing for the past four years? Playing sabacc?" Imara looked genuinely confused. "Of course I've seen war. I've been _fighting_ in this endless war for a while now, in case you forgot."

"That's not the same. You've been running cargo, doing specialized missions, and of course hacking into systems where you don't belong." Imara looked slightly embarassed about the last point. _Probably more about getting caught than the act itself, _Summers laughed inwardly. _We all do what we must... _He continued, "No, I mean from the front lines. It's a completely different thing when your life depends on the men around you, and theirs on you. When you see the man next to you get blown up by a mine the sweepers missed, and you were just talking with him the day before about his family back home... that's war. When you have to go into an area and kill every man, woman, and child because the person in charge of you orders you to," he nodded slightly when Imara mouthed the word "Sith" and curled her lip in disgust, "then find out the information they were working from was erroneous... that's war.

"Things don't get any better when you're in charge, either," Summers continued. "As a grunt, you have to follow orders you may not like. As an officer, you have to pass down those orders from higher up."

"You could always 'forget' to pass those on, or change them. That kind of thing happens all the time, right?"

Cipher closed his eyes and laughed quietly, reminded again of how different their lives had been. The ten-year age gap certainly didn't help any. "The one time I tried that, I lost my command. Nevermind that I saved more than half of my company with that decision; those in charge wanted someone to pay. Of course you know how lenient the Empire is with people who disobey orders," he added sarcastically.

"You're still alive and in one piece," Imara observed, enthralled by the story. "What happened?"

"I received an offer to join Imperial Intelligence."

"Not much of a choice." She sat back, a wry expression lifting one side of her mouth. "So, what? They just walked up and told the moff or whoever not to kill you? I bet that went over well."

"It was a bit more complicated than that." Cipher considered his words carefully, wondering just how much to tell this Republic freelancer. Seeing he still had her full attention, he offered the least sensitive version he could manage. "The military uses brute force or open threats to get what it wants. Imperial Intelligence is a bit more... subtle."

"I noticed," Imara observed dryly. "You said you were in command, though, so I doubt they could just make you disappear." She laughed at the notion until she noticed Cipher wasn't laughing with her.

"Cipher?" He raised an eyebrow at the inquiry. "They didn't just make you disappear, did they?"

"Something like that," he answered mysteriously.

Imara shuddered. "You people are creepy. I swear I'd rather deal with Alderaanian nobles!"

Cipher nodded acceptance of the observation. "If those nobles spent half as much time working as we do, they might actually accomplish something useful. As it stands, though, I'm afraid we must end this conversation for the time being. Even being technically on vacation, I am rather busy."

"You call this a vacation? No wonder the Empire has a huge stick up its butt."

"Maybe when this is all done, you can show me how a real vacation is supposed to be." Summers smiled as he made the offer, even while expecting her refusal. He was not disappointed.

"Right. That's my idea of a good time – teaching some Imperial how to actually have fun while I wait for him to stab me in the back. Thanks, but I'll pass."

Summers just sighed and turned back to his work.

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Two days later, she was finally healed enough to be permanantly moved from the medbay. The blood loss had magnified the normally minute ratio of contaminants from her cyberware, creating a need for regular monitoring. Once that stage had passed, Imara was again offered the choice to bunk in the crew quarters or stay with Summers. The desire to avoid a repeat occurence outweighed her distaste for the agent, so she opted to share his room.

"I suppose I should have mentioned the first time that my offer was as much for your safety as for any other reason," Cipher said by way of apology.

"So why didn't you?" Imara accused the man standing on the other side of the bed.

"Would you really have believed me?"

Imara pondered the question for several seconds before admitting, "Probably not." Neither was inclined to continue the conversation, so they climbed into bed – one with great reluctance, the other with relief.

An hour before he had planned to wake up, Summers was jolted from his sleep by thrashing and muttering next to him. After a moment, he caught a few intelligible words. It sounded like she was apologizing for something, and not at all sure she'd be forgiven. He reached over to try to calm her, but his touch had just the opposite effect. With a dancer's grace, she pulled her right leg under her so it would touch the ground first, then used her left to launch herself away from the bed – right into the bulkhead. The shock of the impact knocked the breath out of her, caused her recent wound to burn as it threatened to reopen, and finally woke her up completely.

Common sense warred with concern, but Summers finally gave in to the latter and moved to aid Imara. He realized the reason for his subconscious hesitation as soon as he finished asking if she was alright. Apparently whatever nightmare she had been having hadn't released its grip entirely, because hearing his accent triggered a strong mix of fear and anger. Lacking any other targets, she directed her full fury at him.

"You demented Imperial filth! You sorry excuse for a slug's fart! What the hell do you think you're doing?! I never asked to be here! You have no right..." He decided it wasn't worth finding out exactly what she thought his rights were, so he grabbed her shoulders and slammed her, once, solidly against the wall.

"That's enough," he ordered firmly. When she quieted and he was sure he had her attention, he finally released his grip. "Now listen to me. We may have gotten off on the wrong foot. You were, after all, hacking into classified data using one of the Empire's consoles. However, I have treated you with nothing but respect and dignity, even then, and I expect to receive the same in return. I don't know exactly what happened to you last time you were on Dromund Kaas, but..." he leaned in closer and spoke slowly to make sure his words sank in, "I was not responsible for that. Unless I miss my guess, that was at least three years ago. I wasn't even in Imperial Intelligence yet, nor was I on the planet. So whatever issues you have, they are Not. With. Me."

He stepped back, but the distance between them did not increase. Imara moved forward with him, the fire almost fully rekindled. "I don't care where you were or what you were doing." She jabbed a finger at his chest to emphasize her point. "You're still one of _them_. You got the same brainwashing indoctrination as the rest of them. You. Are. An. Imperial. And don't think any of your smooth words are gonna convince me otherwise. I already fell for that once. Never again." She turned sidelong and threw her hands in the air. "For all I know, you were one of the ones who blew up my home! I don't give a damn about the Republic, but I can't STAND you stuck-up Imperial swine strutting around like you own every corner of space and everyone should bow down to your wishes." Imara rounded on the silent agent. "And the ones who don't listen, you sic the Sith on them!"

"It's the Sith who currently run the Empire," he calmly reminded his irate partner. "That's what we're here to change."

Imara's reply came through clenched teeth. "Your whole damned Empire can fall into a black hole for all I care. I'm just here for revenge." The ice in her words was a stark contrast to the heated tirade from a moment before, and sent a long series of chills down his spine. _I almost feel sorry for Cipher Five. He has no idea what's in store for him. _He lowered his head into his hand, frustrated from dealing with the aftermath of someone else's actions. As soon as his gaze dropped, he noticed a dark spot on the wall behind Imara.

"Lie down," Summers instructed, suddenly all business.

"What? Why? What makes you think I'm just going to..."

"You're bleeding," he informed her with a sigh. "Lie down so I can treat it." He moved back to his own side of the bed to retrieve a medpac from his coat pocket and turn on a small bedside light. Seeing that she was still standing, he added, "Unless you think I'm going to stab you instead. Either lie down or go somewhere else. I don't like bloodstains in my room. They don't create a very restful environment." To his relief, Imara finally complied.

As Summers helped her remove her undershirt, which was now sporting a wide red stain on the back, he commented, "It figures. My droid just finished cleaning and mending your other top. I'm sorry, I didn't realize you weren't fully healed. You certainly didn't give any indication you were still injured."

She laughed once before going still again. "This cut on my back? I've had worse. I don't know why you're so upset about it." She couldn't help teasing. "Guilty conscience?" Despite her casual attitude, she couldn't deny the burning sensation of the torn muscles every time she put strain on her right arm any more than she could deny the cool touch of the hands currently working to re-close the wound. She closed her eyes, momentarily forgetting the owner of the hands was her enemy, nevermind the temporary truce to accomplish mutual goals. With a small moan, she let him progress from treating her wound to working the tension and stiffness out of her back and shoulders.

Feeling her finally relax, Summers assumed the anesthetic in the medpac had alleviated most of the pain. With the worst past, he took a little more time to finish his work. Even in the low light, he noticed the various marks and scars he had been forced to ignore by the emergency of the previous day's ministrations. Tracing each one individually, then taking in the whole picture, he was able to understand a little more of why this woman felt such deep loathing of anything or anyone associated with the Empire. Only half the scars looked as though they had been received in combat. He silently cursed the ones responsible for the rest of them, but at the same time was grateful for the inner strength she had learned at least in part due to their acquisition.

Looking at the auburn smuggler now almost completely at ease in his bed, he regretted the inevitable additions to her scars she would gain from doing his work.


	8. Sabotage

_Author's notes: First off, thanks everyone for the read-and-reviews. That really does make my day. I respond to all the ones I can, either with questions about your review or just to say thanks for the effort. Sometimes I might drop a hint about future chapters (you know who you are). *coughIdon'townStarWarscough* Excuse me. Anyway, we're at the main reason they're on Dromund Kaas. The next few chapters will all be in the same day, but still posted at my one-a-week pace. Bear with me. Most of all, enjoy!_

_- Laryn_

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**Sabotage**

After a few days and some practice sparring matches with Vector, Imara felt ready to get on with her mission. She felt restless enough to take on the entire Empire ("I'll do it blindfolded, just for fun," she had boasted once), but Summers was acting unusually protective and refused to give her the information she needed to start. He had even put extra safeguards on the computer system, having fully expected her to try to gather the information herself.

_Scary how well he knows me,_ Imara thought as the preset message flashed in the air, mocking her. She tried a few more times to circumvent the firewalls until the computer shut itself down entirely and refused to restart. _Perfect. Just perfect._ She rolled her eyes and blew out a long sigh. The sound of the outer hatch opening heralded the return of Cipher and Kaliyo from some meeting which had occupied most of their day. Having only a few seconds to conceal her activities, Imara hastily replaced the panel at the base of the holoviewer panel, picked up her datapad, and moved over to the nearby couch. She had just flipped to a random section of text when Cipher entered the room. Apparently Kaliyo had gone to her typical hangout near the engine room – a fact which did not bother Imara in the least.

Summers noted the loose panel immediately when he entered the room – a new ship with a droid who is nearly obsessive about keeping things tidy made that kind of thing hard to miss. "Sloppy," he chided the too-innocent-looking smuggler. "Did you at least manage to gain any information?"

Imara bristled indignantly. "Now see? That's why I didn't wanna help you! I knew you'd think I was trying to hack the system or something. There was a weird sound coming from in there, and I was just trying to figure out what was making it."

"My apologies, then," Cipher said half-mockingly. "Do tell. What was the issue?"

Imara relaxed slightly, but wasn't at all convinced he believed her impromptu story yet. "One of the wires was loose. I guess that attack last week knocked it loose a little, and it finally wiggled its way out enough to start having problems. So I put it back. And now you're getting on my case about it! That's gratitude for ya."

Cipher nodded, still not accepting the lie but willing to play along. "Of course you were just trying to help. As capable as you are, I'm sure it's back in good working order, too." He worked hard to keep from smiling when Imara looked away, running one thumb nervously over back of her other hand.

"Actually... it locked up on me. I was trying to find the diagnostics program, and it just stopped working. Some kind of failsafe to prevent tampering, I guess."

"Those failsafes were only on sensitive files. You were in completely the wrong set of folders." Imara looked up toward the ceiling and laughed once, admitting defeat. "Sloppy," repeated Cipher, visibly disappointed. "First you let Kaliyo get the better of you, then you're caught trying to hack into my computer. I have to wonder if Nar Shadaa was a fluke, but then, you were caught there, too. You may not be suited for this mission after all."

"I wasn't planning on sleeping on the job, for one," argued Imara. To her credit, she managed to keep her temper and embarrasment under control. "And the few times I've ever been caught, it was by intelligence agents, even early on. Unless I'm going into your headquarters, it shouldn't be a problem." She stopped for a few seconds, eyeing Cipher suspiciously. "This was a test. You knew I was gonna try to get that information."

The suppressed smile finally surfaced on Cipher's face. "You made it no secret you were ready to go, so the mission parameters were plainly your goal. How long did it take you to find the locked files?"

"From when I first touched the console? Two minutes sixteen seconds. Most of that was learning this computer's coding system. The rest was a breeze."

"If you had known the coding system, how long would it have taken?"

"I would have found a way around your failsafes, downloaded the information, and been at the other end of the ship."

"Prove it," Cipher challenged. "Crack through my defenses."

Imara finally met Cipher's gaze, most of her confidence restored by the dare. She almost replied with her usual bluster, but decided to let her actions do the talking this time. Moving back to the loose panel, she set it aside, then moved a few wires until the console lit up. Glacing up at it frequently to check her progress, she deftly manipulated more wires until the display resembled the one she had seen when she started. _Eighteen seconds_, she scolded herself. _Too long. _After she replaced one last wire, she moved back to the console to input a test code. Not surprisingly, the system responded with the taunt from earlier. Knowing the cost of too many failures using the same approach, Imara backed out of that subroutine to try breaking in from a different direction.

The lone spectator rested his chin in one hand, propping the elbow on his other arm as he watched appreciatively. Less than ninety seconds after beginning the new tactic – one he hadn't considered, when he thought about it objectively – the slicer had a quartet of files floating in the air above the console.

As much as she wanted to view the contents immediately, Imara opted to complete the task as if this were the real deal. She quickly copied a string of letters and numbers to her datapad, then produced a small cable from her jacket to link the two machines. A few seconds later, the files were successfully copied to the datapad. "This is where I would normally drop the spike, if that's part of the job," she muttered half to herself.

"I would appreciate it if you did not plant a virus in my computer," the agent replied, only half-convinced she would refrain from doing just that. "Don't forget to put everything back together."

Imara shot him a withering look before turning back to her work. "I know what I'm doing."

"Then why did it take you so long to do it last time?"

The slicer put the finishing touches on the project, even blowing into the area under the console to stir up the dust so it would settle more evenly, before answering. "Vector was in the room. You wouldn't believe how much that guy can hold before he has to pee. It took me hours to get him to drink enough without making him suspicious."

They shared a laugh at the situation. When the subject of the conversation came around the corner, Imara doubled over, laughing even harder. Vector looked curiously at Summers, who was wiping tears from his eyes and still chortling.

"Have we interrupted something?" inquired the Joiner politely, unaware he was the source of their mirth.

"Not at all," Cipher answered. "I was just finishing briefing our guest on the nature of her task."

"Ah, I see." Vector considered the pair once more before leaving the room.

Once he was sure the other man was out of earshot, Summers turned back to Imara. "He didn't look drunk. What did you give him?"

"Just water. Lots and lots of water."

Summers shook his head again, then brought the files up over the console again. "Hopefully you won't have to deal with anything like that for your first job. As you may have guessed, it involves hacking into a computer. Your objective, however, is quite different."

"I figured it'd be something like that. Get to the point."

Cipher pressed his lips together in annoyance at the rude interruption, but continued without commenting on it. "This particular Sith is not well-liked by his peers. Basically, we're going to expose enough of his dirty little secrets to make the others oust him. If we play it right, he'll become the perfect scapegoat for the rest of the tasks." He shivered slightly when Imara's face split into a wicked grin. Summers felt both intrigued and disturbed by the expression, especially when the glow from her cybernetic eye enhanced the effect.

"Clever," she complimented the agent. "You have anything specific in mind, or should I just dig up what I can? And how were you planning on delivering his skeletons to everyone else? I doubt they would believe me if I just walked in and told them what's what." Laughing lightly, she added, "Not entirely sure they'd be happy with me just walking in there at all."

"Actually, that's the easy part. You already know the best lie is..."

"...one close to the truth," she finished with him. "What about it?"

Summers folded his arms and went silent for a moment, staring at his counterpart. When she started to shift uncomfortably, he asked, "Do you mind if I finish speaking?" Imara crossed her own arms and leaned back against the bulkhead, nodding for him to continue. Certain he finally had her full attention, Cipher detailed the types of information which would be useful, and the parties which should "accidentally" receive a copy. The method of delivery was up to her, of course, but the overall mission was fairly straightforward.

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_Do these people ever lock their doors?_ Imara laughed silently as she peeked through the crack between the door to the Sith Lord's office and its frame. Her left eye confirmed what her ears had already told her: the room was unoccupied. No surprise, since daybreak was still a couple hours away. Even better, the computer was still running on the desk. Imara shook her head and laughed again. _It's almost a shame to take this guy out. Someone this lazy and careless could do lots more harm to the Empire than I can. _She stopped, seriously considering the idea until one of the files caught her eye.

"...must complete the extermination of the local populace to increase the effectiveness of loyal Imperial citizens in the area..." She stopped reading, thoroughly disgusted. Other files had similar agendas. There were even communiqués with Imperial forces instructing them to eradicate sections of their own military – generally those consisting of people other than humans and Sith purebloods. _United. Riiiight. Racist prick. I may not like the Empire, but even they don't deserve to be treated like this. Someone should... _

A mischevious smile crossed the slicer's face. After a couple attempts, she finally managed to retrieve the backup versions of the messages sent to the various military commanders and arranged for them to "accidentally" be transmitted to several key members of the Dark Council, the Imperial government, and the other three targets on her list after a three hour delay. She carefully deleted all other signs of her work, restored the screen to its original layout, and quietly closed the door behind her as she left the room.

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"It's done then?" Cipher kept his expression and inflection carefully neutral. Kaliyo stood behind him, glaring at the other woman. Imara grinned smugly at her before answering.

"That was so easy I fell asleep doing it. Here's a copy of what I found, if you have the stomach to read it. That man's habit of dividing the Empire may get him split in half instead." She chuckled at her own joke, then addressed Kaliyo. "Would you believe he ordered some captain to kill an entire platoon of Rattataki vanguards after they finished their mission? Something about not wanting them to turn on the other soldiers. Frankly, I don't blame him – you people make rancors look civilized - but _no one_ deserves that."

Kaliyo stepped out from where she had been observing Cipher's steady progress on his dwindling stack of reports to be filed. "I guess I'm supposed to thank you or something, is that it? Why don't we go outside so I can show proper appreciation." She cracked her knuckles to emphasize her words.

"Both of you settle down." Cipher's voice was quiet, but carried the unmistakeable weight of authority neither woman could ignore. "Imara, I'll look over the data when I get a chance. Thank you for bringing back a copy. Tell me about the rest of what happened. And do try to keep the insults to my crew to a minimum."

Imara briefly descibed her deeds, skipping over technical details and other trade secrets. Cipher nodded, and even Kaliyo looked amused when she heard the list to which the correspondences had been forwarded.

"Perfect," Cipher congratulated the redhead. "They'll have enough to occupy them they won't even bother looking outside for the source of their problems. Good thinking marking the other three objectives as recipients. Once they are eliminated, the Council will automatically suspect the first Sith Lord, assume he'll continue killing people, and deal with him accordingly."

"That's exactly what I had in mind when I put their names on the list. Your Empire may be corrupt, but at least you're predictable.

"Not all of us are corrupt," Cipher reminded her before Kaliyo had a chance to act.

Imara sighed and rolled her good eye upward. "Right. The 'cancer'. Honestly, I'm not sure if I hope you're right or wrong about that."

Summers dismissed Kaliyo with a look. When the pale woman had gone, muttering darkly to herself, he spoke softly to Imara. "What would anyone stand to gain from the entire Empire being completely corrupt? True, your hatred for us would be justified, but how would you actually benefit?"

Imara clenched her teeth in frustration before finding a suitable reply. "And I suppose you're filled with love and warm feelings toward the Republic. Admit it. You wanna see their government tear themselves apart from the inside as much as I wanna see the Empire collapse."

"You're avoiding the question."

"That's none of your damned business! Since when are you so interested in what I think about you people anyway? I'm just here to do a job, then I hope I never see any of you again."

Summers couldn't quite hide the pain he felt from her last statement. "You brought the issue up. I was merely expressing interest in your comment. After all, how can I trust someone if I don't know her?"

Seeing his grimace and hearing her own logic used against her, Imara pressed her palm against her left eye socket. "Just forget I said anything," she finally mumbled. "How long until I should start on the other assignments?"

"Are you still willing to follow through on those?"

Imara shot him an irritated look. "That was the deal, wasn't it? How long?"

"You should return to the city within the hour. Any later than that, and security may make a connection between your entry and the... erm, _tragedies_ about to occur. You took a risk coming back here as it was."

"I wanted to make sure there wasn't some piece of information you had forgotten to tell me, or needed to get, before I took care of the rest of this job."

Cipher conceded the point with a smile. "Go make any preparations you may need. When you're done with all three of them, holo me from outside the south entrance to the city. I'll meet you there, and we can go uphold my end of the bargain."

Imara silently left the ship, all the while cursing Cipher for being so blasted _right_. Damned Imperials...


	9. Sith and Sisterhood

_Author's notes: Here it is, folks! My first collaborative effort with another author. If you've been paying attention, you'll know the part when you see it. If not... well, then you have some more reading to enjoy. Obviously I can't claim credit for pretty much anything. After giving laud to LucasArts, Bioware, FrictionX42, BuriedBeneath, Captain Goodspeed, Agent Summers, and of course my beloved readers, there's not much credit left to take. *shrugs* Not that I care. I'm having fun. I hope you are too. I'm going to end this part now and let you get to the real reason you came to this page._

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**Sith and Sisterhood**

The first two targets were almost pathetically easy. Apparently upper echelons in the government abandoned personal security measures once they were "safely" back in their own offices - a fact which caught Imara by surprise, considering the devious nature of the Empire. After giving each soon-to-be victim a chance to read the "accidental" information leak, Imara set to her task. She had just put a neat hole in the back of an unsuspecting moff's head when an explosion blew out some of the windows on the fifth floor of the neighboring building. _Two down, one to go,_ she thought, fighting revulsion at the nature of her missions. The powerful adhesive Imara had slathered on the seat of the chair ensured the Sith would still be seated when the pressure-activated bomb on the underside detonated, so the smuggler didn't waste any time checking the scene. She wasn't particularly interested in viewing the results of her handiwork, anyway, no matter how evil the target may have been.

Imara followed a small group moving down to the sixth floor of they building they were in, then split off down a separate hallway. A quick check of her datapad showed the last target was a prominent Sith Lord named Darth Rasan.

"Ruthless," Cipher Nine had written. "Known for manipulating others to achieve his own goals, then disposing of them in whichever manner is most convenient at the time. Use extreme caution. Make no deals with this one if at all possible. Prefers martial combat to Force techniques, but highly proficient with both."

_Deals? _Imara scoffed. _Why would I make a deal with this guy? If he's anything like the other two, he'll be dead before he knows I'm there._ She activated her stealth field generator, slipped through the open door to the Sith's office, and started sliding along the wall before she realized this one was nothing like the other two.

"Come in, little assassin." Darth Rasan stared straight at Imara in spite of her cloaking. She hesitated a moment, thinking he was bluffing, then moved ten centimeters to her right to check her theory. His red eyes followed her unerringly. "Yes, little one, I can see you. One does not ascend to a position such as mine without developing certain senses. Others have tried, but as recent events have shown, they do not make it very far." Imara swore inwardly at this turn of events. There was no way she'd be able to get close enough now to... _Get close. That's it! _The loathing of her new plan threatened to upend her stomach, but she pushed it down and allowed fear to mask it and her other emotions. That done, she pressed the button on her belt to make herself visible, knelt, and bowed her head in a subservient fashion.

"I am no assassin, my Lord." Imara would probably never admit it to him, but she was suddenly grateful for Cipher's insistence that she practice using the Imperial accent. "I..." She searched for a plausible excuse for her presence, pretending embarrasment to buy time. "I only wished to see a real Sith Lord at work. I knew of no means to accomplish this normally, so I snuck in. I beg your forgiveness, my Lord."

Darth Rasan studied the kneeling trespasser, then smiled wickedly. Had Imara been able to see the expression (her head was still down), she might have lost her nerve right then and bolted. As it was, she was working hard to keep her head clear enough to look for an opportunity to complete her mission. She had faced wicked men in her life, but none of them exuded sheer evil like this one. _The sooner I'm done with this and out of here, the better,_ she reminded herself. _I've got better things to do than sit around in some vile Sith's office. But how do I get close enough?_ She still hadn't found an answer when Rasan spoke again.

"I suppose you had nothing to do with the deaths which just occurred, hm?"

"Deaths?" Imara feigned confusion. "I heard an explosion from outside. Is that what you are referring to, my Lord? I was in this building, not far from your office. I couldn't have caused it, if that's what you're implying, my Lord."

"Nevertheless, I sense darkness in you, young one." The Darth considered the intruder for a moment. "Very well. You may stay and watch. Remain there as you are." With those few words, Rasan seated himself and pulled out a datapad. For the next five hours, he worked almost silently, occasionally muttering to himself or making some small noise. Not once did he glance up at Imara, although she had no doubt he was constantly aware of her presence. She shifted once in a while at first, but gave that up after her legs fell asleep somewhere around the end of the second hour. While the Sith was working, Imara racked her brain trying to come up with some way to finish the job she had come to do. It was distasteful enough working as an assassin on behalf of an Imperial Agent and his unknown benefactor, but to be forced to sit for hours with her target watching her from the corner of his eye was almost more than she could bear. Not being allowed to talk or move, there really wasn't much she could do besides wait.

The monotony was finally broken by a knock at the door. Darth Rasan took a moment to finish the section he was working on – apparently anyone who needed to knock wasn't worth an immediate answer – then used the Force to pull the door open. On the other side stood a small woman with short blonde hair, hazel eyes, and Sith robes. Imara risked a glance at the newcomer. There was something oddly familiar about her, but she couldn't place it just then. The woman glanced at Imara, then looked back at Rasan.

"Pardon, my Lord. Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all, Minara," he said dismissively as he returned the datapad to his desk. "My young guest here has just completed her lesson in patience. We were about to cover how Sith deal with intruders. Would you like to watch?" The smile creasing Minara's mouth was only slightly less disturbing than the one Rasan wore.

Imara's eyes widened, both in recognition of the woman's name and as a reaction to his words. _Uh-oh, here it comes. He's going to kill me now. It's about time we got to the action. I just wish I hadn't had to kneel for so long. Damn! _She struggled to get her legs to respond as she reached for her blaster, but neither action was complete when an invisible hand on her throat jerked her to her feet and started to squeeze.

"You see," Darth Rasan began lecturing as Imara gasped for what little air she could find, "the Empire is built on a few undeniable principles. One of these is each person knowing their place. Now as flattering as it is to have someone risk her life just to watch me do paperwork, we can't be giving people the impression that just anybody can walk in here whenever they please, now can we?" The two Sith chuckled. Rasan then addressed Imara directly. "Of course, you won't survive this lesson, but it's best you learn it before you face oblivion, just in case." Rasan closed his fingers a little more, causing the unseen pressure to completely cut off Imara's breathing.

"There's one other lesson she should learn, my Lord," Minara interjected.

"Oh? What would that be?" He opened his mouth again to make a snide remark, probably about lower-status Sith Lords overstepping their bounds, but that turned into an "O" of surprise when a blast of air threw him back against the far wall. Once his concentration was broken, Imara collapsed back to the ground, gasping for air. She could barely hear Minara's response over the ringing in her ears.

"She should learn how Sith ascend through the ranks." Another blast of air rushed from Lord Minara's outstretched hands and slammed Rasan back further. He recovered his wits quickly enough to use the Force to catch his most recent opponent in a crushing grasp around her middle before she was able to attack again. With great difficulty, Minara loosened the grip enough to keep it from breaking her ribs. The two Sith - one growling, one groaning - focused intently on each other, momentarily forgetting about the third combatant. Imara quietly slipped around the side of the desk, closing to within arm's length of Darth Rasan. She considered a shot to the back of the head, but the slight whine of the blaster before it discharged might bring the attention of the dangerous Sith Lord back to herself. So Imara went with the next best option – she flipped the blaster over in her hand and delivered a stunning strike to his left temple. The blow didn't knock Rasan unconscious, but he was disoriented long enough for Imara to loose several blaster bolts at point blank range. Combined with a devastating lightning bolt from across the room, the former Sith Lord was dead before he hit the floor.

Once the electricity discharged enough for Imara to regain feeling in her fingers, she holstered her blaster and approached the remaining Sith.

"Thanks for the help. You are just a _ray_ of sunshine in the darkness, aren't you?" Imara carefully emphasized her friend's name, suspecting the identity of the woman opposite her.

"Don't get used to it, Captain," Minara half-growled. "It was done out of necessity, not any sort of _sister_-ly affection." The Sith looked around for eavesdroppers. She saw none, but kept her voice low anyway. "Listen carefully. I was once a slave here, like you. When they found out I was Force sensitive, they took me to Korriban. Initiates either pass the trials or die trying, so I didn't really have any choice. Ever since then, I've been working from the inside to help our people. As far as _she_ is concerned," Imara didn't have to ask who "she" was, "I died before any of this happened. Understood?" The smuggler nodded reluctantly, unsure why the older woman was sharing this information, but fully aware there was no time to ask. Imara frowned then. Keeping this a secret from her friend was going to be painful at best.

"Good. Now get going. Your friend is worried about you." _Raya is worried? That can't be right. She doesn't even know I'm here. Minara can't mean Cipher... can she?_ Oblivious to the confusion swirling in Imara's mind, Minara continued. "And don't concern yourself with _her_. I've been watching her for a long time by other means. I'll contact her myself when the time is right. For now..." Minara looked around again, then quickly handed Imara a small box wrapped in fabric. The smuggler tucked the parcel into an inner pocket of her jacket. "Next time you see her, make sure she gets that," Minara instructed. After one last check to make sure Rasan was truly dead, the surviving Sith Lord turned abruptly and left the room.

Imara followed her to the doorway, then tossed a grenade back into the room to conceal the details of the murder. As the blast erupted behind her, she activated her stealth field and made her way back out of the building.

Getting out was much easier than getting in had been, thanks to the commotion. Imara gave up trying to figure out just how many useless and contradictory orders were being given by this moff or that Sith, and focused on carefully threading through them without attracting attention. By the time she reached the city walls, she was almost giddy with her victory. _Let's see how you like having _your_ home blown up, you bastards,_ she thought maliciously. Looking back at the citadel, she almost bumped into a soldier standing guard. Imara rapidly backpedaled, relying on a greater distance to keep the now-wary sentry from spotting the distortion effect indicative of a person using a stealth field. Eventually, he turned away from the city gates to continue scanning the horizon for possible threats, unaware of what had transpired within the walls not long before.

Once she was away from the capitol and sure there was no one in earshot, Imara concealed herself in a niche in one of the many large boulders, deactivated her stealth device, and pulled her holocommunicator out of her pocket. After a few seconds, a miniature image of Cipher Nine appeared.

"Where are you?" the image asked, looking around at the rocky surroundings.

"Outside the city," Imara replied snarkily. "I did what you wanted. Let's finish the rest of this so I can get off this planet."

"You should have been done hours ago, Imara. What happened?"

"Don't play dumb, Cipher. You already know what happened, and I don't feel like going over it."

"I knew two of the three targets had been eliminated, but I hadn't heard anything about the third until fifteen minutes ago, and nothing from you until just now. I admit, I feared the worst."

"Aww, were you worried about me?" she teased.

"Of course not." Summers coughed self-consciously. "You're a capable woman. I was afraid the mission had been compromised."

Imara allowed herself a tiny smile before turning back to business. "Well, the mission is complete. How soon can you be here?"

"Actually, you're going to have to come to me. We'll be riding speeders, unless you would rather walk the hundred-fifty kilometers through this jungle. Since they are not designed to tow other vehicles, this means we're starting near the spaceport."

"So why did you want me to call from Kaas City?"

"I wasn't sure where to find Huldar. I was working on that while you were away."

"You know where he is now?" Imara's excitement was almost palpable. The agent nodded affirmation. "And he's that close?" Summers nodded again, smiling.

"Cipher, I could k-" She cut that thought abruptly. "Thanks," she said instead. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"My pleasure," the image replied with a small bow, then disappeared. Imara placed the projector into her pocket and made her way back to the spaceport, intent on avenging her parents and all the other victims betrayed by her final target.


	10. Revenge

_Author's notes: Whoever said "revenge is a dish best served cold" obviously never met Imara Goodspeed. If you read "Businesswoman", you'll probably understand exactly why she's so intent on making this man pay. So with no delays aside from the obligatory disclaimer - Idon'townStarWarscreditgoesto BiowareEAandLucasArts blahblahblah - here's a delightful treat for Imara and those reading about her adventures._

_Oh, and sorry about the cliffhanger. No, no I'm not. You'll find out next week, promise. ;) If you really can't stand cliffhangers, set this aside and wait until chapter 12 is posted to catch up. ClicketyKeys and Eleneri have some good fics to read in the meantime, and you already know about BB and Friction. Enjoy!_

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**Revenge**

"Halt and identify yourselves," came the challenge from a checkpoint fifty meters ahead. Cipher Nine pulled up to about twenty meters from the guardpost and flashed his ident.

"Cipher Agent, Imperial Intelligence."

"And the lady?" queried the guard.

"The lady is with me." He allowed some irritation to color his tone. This was the third checkpoint they had come across, and the routine was getting old.

"I'm sorry, I'm going to have to see her ident as well." The man held his chin up, but did not look quite as sure of his authority as when they had first arrived.

"Is my word not sufficient?" The threat in the agent's voice was unmistakeable. Imara noted either the words or the way they were spoken had a profound effect on the trooper.

The once-confident sentry was now shaking and stuttering. "Y-yes, Cipher. I mean, n-n-no Cipher." The confused man shook his head, not sure how to answer the negative question. Imara called on every ounce of willpower she had learned playing cards to keep a straight face as he finally stammered something resembling permission for them to pass.

Once they were out of earshot, she called to the agent ahead of her, "Is that normal?" Cipher didn't answer except to laugh, and it wasn't a pleasant one. She made a mental note to never cross this dangerous creature unless she was sure she could win.

* * *

Nearly two hours after they left the spaceport – _Two hours of endless rain in this blasted jungle,_ Imara thought bitterly - the pair pulled up a short distance from the outpost, still well out of sight of the sentries. Cipher indicated the small, lightly guarded base with a wave of his hand.

"Your quarry awaits within, my dear. I trust you have made all the preparations you need."

"Don't worry about it, Cipher. I'll handle it."

Summers shot her a concerned glance when he heard her flippant tone. "You can't just walk in there, blasters blazing. You might achieve your goal, but you probably wouldn't live to enjoy it."

"Oh come on, gimme a little credit. You act like I've never done anything like this before." She pulled a lightly armored civilian-style shirt from her pack and began to change.

Summers hastily averted his eyes, intent on behaving as a gentleman. "Have you?"

"You mean other than earlier today?"

Cipher acknowledged her point with a quiet "Hmph."

Imara flashed him a coy smile once he was facing her again. "I thought you already knew everything about me. Do you mean there's something the mighty Imperial Agent _doesn't_ know?"

Summers looked startled for the barest fraction of a second, then returned the smile. "Now where would be the fun in that? If I didn't have to pursue information, my job would be boring."

"Good luck catching it," she teased.

Summers chuckled, then adopted a more serious expression. "How _do_ you plan to pull this off?"

"I'd been thinking about that on the way over."

Summers waited patiently for her to continue as she checked her weapons and gear. "And...?" he finally prompted.

"Is there any special code agents use to greet each other? A secret handshake or something?"

"You realize you're asking me for classified information, right?" Cipher looked at her disbelievingly.

"If you have a better idea for getting him out in the open, I'd love to hear it."

Summers gave her a long look before suggesting, "I know you're not above using feminine charms to lower a man's defenses." Imara made a face, then spat on the ground.

"Even I have standards, Cipher. Just answer the question, unless you wanna do this yourself. Although I'm pretty sure you're not his type."

Cipher racked his mind for a feasible plan. "Why not wait until he leaves on his own?"

"Do you know when that will be?"

Summers shook his head. "I was lucky to discover his location without raising suspicion. Doubtful he'll be there for more than a few days."

"Great. And in the meantime we're stuck out here in this miserable jungle in the miserable rain with all these damned animals wondering if we're good to eat. I thought you were smart."

"I thought you wanted to get this done, no matter the cost," the agent retorted. "You would let a little rain bother you?"

"It's not the rain, really. It's the filthy beasts running around. The yozusks, sleen, and other animals aren't exactly friendly, either." Summers silently applauded the wordplay, at the same time fighting irritation with the woman's anti-Imperial attitude. "Look," she said finally. "If there is some secret signal, and you really can't tell me, I'll come up with a different plan or something."

Summers decided to push Imara a little further. "If I wasn't here, what would you have done? You would not have had anyone to ask for that information."

The smuggler pressed her lips together, clearly not wanting to concede the point. "If you weren't here, I wouldn't be either. You're the one who brought me out here in the first place, remember? Now are you gonna help me or not?"

* * *

Imara grumbled most of the way to the outpost, forcibly reminding herself to assume an Imperial accent. She needed it to mock Cipher Nine, anyway. _Patronizing son-of-a gundark. He could have just told me instead of playing games. I bet he enjoyed that. _Getting inside the outpost wasn't much of an issue; anyone walking around fully armed, relatively clean, and willing to tell off the guards was probably someone they didn't want to challenge. Finding Huldar was almost as easy.

"I'm looking for Cipher Five," Imara informed one of the soldiers. The man blanched slightly, then pointed toward a small building on the far side of the outpost. _He must have quite a reputation,_ the smuggler thought. She thanked the soldier, then moved off in the indicated direction.

The building was occupied by a trio of men – humans all - gathered around a large holocommunicator. The machine wasn't in use, but the men were debating heatedly over some message they apparently had just received. Imara waited just inside the doorway for a lull in the argument before clearing her throat.

All three men looked up at the newcomer. "You're in the wrong building, girl," one of them snarled. The other two nodded agreement, although Huldar gave her an appraising look.

"Who are you?" Huldar finally asked. "What are you doing here? There's nothing here of any interest to a civilian."

"You're Cipher Five?" the woman asked in lieu of an answer. Huldar nodded affirmation. "I'm Agent Chunhei, Imperial Intelligence," Imara lied. "Headquarters asked me to deliver a message to you."

Cipher Five stepped forward, then considered the young woman again. "I thought you looked familiar. You're new, right?"

Imara nodded. "I just arrived on Dromund Kaas a few days ago." _This idiot has the WORST memory!_ She laughed inwardly. _Probably another reason Imperial Intelligence wants him gone. _She kept her hands folded behind her back, both to present the professional appearance she had seen Cipher Nine frequently adopt, and to hide her eagerness to strangle this man with her bare hands. _Patience_, she reminded herself. _Make this count. You've been waiting years for this – a few more minutes don't matter._

Unfortunately, her stance gave Huldar a clear view of her pleasantly-curved figure, and he very obviously did not intend to miss the opportunity. He barely looked at her face as he asked, "So why would Headquarters send a lovely new agent down here to deliver me a message? Why not just call?"

Imara considered modestly folding her arms in front of her, then realized directing his gaze to her face increased the chance he would actually recognize her. With a tiny shiver of disgust, she kept her hands clasped behind her. "It's very sensitive information," she explained. "They didn't want to risk it being intercepted. It's also classified," she added, addressing the other two.

When they didn't move, Huldar turned around to face them. "You heard the lady. We'd like some time alone. Get lost." With his back to her, Huldar didn't see Imara gag visibly. The other two did, though, and chuckled amongst themselves as they left.

"Very well, what was it _Headquarters_ wanted to tell me?" Huldar stepped closer to Imara.

She fought down the urge to plant her fist in his smug face right then and there. _First things first._ Turning around to face the door, she asked, "When will they be back?" She watched out of the corner of her eye as Huldar closed the distance between them.

"Not for a while. It's just you and me." He was standing right behind her now.

She spun around suddenly, grabbed his shoulders, and drove her knee into his groin. Hard. "Good. Then there's no one around to help you this time." Huldar wheezed out an unintelligible question, but Imara could guess what he meant. In her rage, she dropped the hated accent. "That was for Balmorra." The now-furious redhead balled her left hand and delivered a stunning blow to the agent's nose. "That was for Farin. And this..." she pulled her blaster and took aim. "This is for me."

Before she had a chance to pull the trigger, her weapon was flying across the room. It seemed having his life on the line was enough to cause Huldar to move past the pain she had inflicted and start fighting back. Imara leaned over her right hand as she pulled it in toward her in a futile attempt to break the man's grip on the pressure point of her right wrist. Pain shot up her arm, causing her to cry out.

"You! Why can't you dust die like a good little slave?" Huldar growled. Although the words came out a half octave higher than he normally spoke and oddly accented because of his broken nose, his tone was unmistakeably threatening. "I guess I'll hab to fix that byself, you little bitch." He twisted her wrist further for emphasis, nearly causing her to fall over to that side.

"I'm not..." she gasped as his thumb on her wrist stabbed all the way to her shoulder. "I'm not a slave!" She pulled her arm in closer and doubled over it, trapping Huldar's left arm. Placing her left hand on his upper arm, she suddenly turned her right hand over, grabbed his left wrist, then bent her body completely over her knee, pushing down hard with her left hand. The satisfying _crack_ of his elbow breaking was immediately drowned out by his howls of pain. Once the pressure on her wrist was gone, Imara's right arm buzzed uncomfortably, but she ignored it. She had a job to finish.

"If you wanna draw this out, that's fine with me. I have five years, a whole planet, and the loss of my eye to take out on your worthless hide." She kicked the crouching agent while he cradled his broken arm. She considered going to retrieve her blaster, but that would give her opponent too much of a chance to recover. _Besides, this is MUCH more satisfying,_ she thought as she kicked him again. She was almost certain she heard a rib break, but screamed at him anyway. "Get up! Get up, you filthy Imperial slime! There's so much I wanna _discuss_ with you."

Surprisingly, Huldar did his best to stand anyway. He was breathing hard, but the steel in his eyes made it clear he was far from beaten. He clutched his left arm to his side and rounded on the agent-imposter. "I do't 'discuss' anyting with slabes. You will die, and dat will be the end of dis." Imara almost missed the movement as he pulled a knife from beneath his coat and swung it at her. She barely had time to jump back to keep from having her belly sliced open. Bending over as she was to avoid the swipe, a few stray hairs fell into the knife's path. The severed ends floated serenely to the floor as the fire raged between the two combatants.

"Fine, then you can just listen," Imara shot back. "Unless you're planning to run away again?" The taunt did not go unanswered. Huldar rushed in, knife poised point outward in front of his chest, ready for a killing strike. The drifting hairs scattered in the wake of his attack.

"I suppose I have you to thank for learning to fight," Imara remarked as she nimbly sidestepped the reckless charge. "Three years with disgusting, drunken Imperials trying to grope you really teach a girl to dodge." She stepped in behind him and grabbed his elbow, forcing his arm behind him. "Although I could have done without the whoring part." Due to his greater strength, it took both her arms to control his right, so removing the knife wasn't an option just yet. However, with his left arm hanging uselessly at his side, there wasn't much Huldar could do, either. He kicked out behind him with his right foot, barely missing her knee. She responded by stepping on the back of his left leg, causing it to buckle. Huldar brought his right leg up to the front in time to plant his foot on the ground, rather than fully kneeling. He used the leverage to push backward against the smaller woman, overpowering her and sending them both sprawling.

Imara, thanks to her superior agility and two working arms, was the first to recover. She brought a booted foot down on Huldar's right hand. She wasn't sure if she broke any more of his bones, but at least the knife was under control. For now. While she was still considering her next move, Huldar rolled away from her, leaving his knife and some of his skin under her boot, but he was free and able to fight. He made a quick note of his disadvantage and pulled out his blaster pistol instead of one of the other knives concealed on his person. Before he could fire, Imara dove to one side – not coincidentally, toward her own blaster. The wall sported a series of new scorch marks marking her path

"You don't think that's _all_ I learned, do you?" She squeezed off a couple shots from behind the holocommunicator. Both missed, but they forced Huldar on the defensive again. He took cover behind some crates stacked in the corner.

"You certainly haben't learned to shoot properly. Even wid one arm, I'm still your better. You may as well gib up now." He waited for a moment for her to answer, then peeked over the crate. Imara was nowhere in sight. "Bloody coward. Is dat all you can do? Hide and wait for death?"

"Dying wasn't on my agenda for today." Huldar jumped as the woman's voice came from right behind him. Cold durasteel pressed against the back of his neck. While he had been crouching behind the crates, Imara had activated her stealth field and snuck around the other side.

Sensing defeat, Huldar slowly placed his weapon on the floor and raised his hands. Obviously outmatched in combat, he resorted to diplomacy. He even managed to regain a little dignity when his nose stopped throbbing enough to allow him to speak normally. "Even if you kill me, what makes you think you can just walk out of here? How do you plan to ever get off Dromund Kaas? Imperial Intelligence would never allow you to murder one of its top operatives and walk away." His expression indicated he was about to suggest some sort of deal – one she probably wouldn't like much. He never got the chance.

Imara smiled wickedly, enjoying her victory. "Did I forget to mention that part? Imperial Intelligence wants you dead, too. It's one of the very few things we agree on. Apparently you're unforgivable scum even by Imperial standards, and that's saying a lot."

"You're bluffing." For the first time since they had left Balmorra, Huldar looked unsure of himself. "How could someone like you possibly know what Imperial Intelligence wants?"

"Y'know..." Imara idly scratched at one of her implants with her free hand. "I could tell you, but I really don't see what difference it makes to a dead man."

"Wait! I..." Whatever he had been about to say was cut off as his the front of his throat erupted, spraying a fountain of gore onto the ground in front of him. Huldar was dead before he hit the floor.

One of the outpost guards stopped the woman just before she passed through the gates. "Is everything alright, miss? Someone said they heard yelling from the building you just left."

Imara winked at the man. "Intelligence business. I had a message for him, and he was not very happy to hear it. Carry on." With a dismissive wave, she continued out into the jungle.

* * *

The incessant rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time Imara returned from her grisly errand. Summers stood and replaced the knife he had been sharpening. He noted with relief that she seemed to be unharmed – an impressive feat, considering her opponent – but was somewhat disturbed by her distant gaze. He wasn't sure what to expect from her when she finally completed her mission, but this wasn't it. The other tasks hadn't had this effect on the smuggler. _It's like looking at a droid. The cybernetics don't help any, either._ He shook away the thought and went to meet her.

"That was quick," Summers commented by way of greeting. "Was he in there?"

Imara's eyes finally focused on her partner. She didn't answer, but a slow smile stretched her mouth as her left eye fell half-lidded. Summers nodded once, then turned his back to conceal his discomfort, pretending to arrange things in the speeder's cargo pocket. At that moment, he was immensely grateful _he_ hadn't been the one to cross this dangerous creature. He made a mental note never to do so unless he was sure he could win. Facing away from the volatile smuggler, he didn't see her grin fade, to be replaced by the downturned mouth and drawn brows of introspection.

"I trust everything went well, then," he finally asked.

"Yeah." Her simple reply lacked any enthusiasm, in spite of her earlier expression.

He waited while she changed back into her customary armored jacket, then said, "If you're finished here, we should be going. We have a long road ahead still, and I'd rather not travel after nightfall. Patrols will be the least of our worries after the sun sets." Cipher mounted his speeder and pointed its nose westward. When he didn't hear the engine of Imara's bike start, he turned back to see what was wrong. To his surprise, she was still standing next to the vehicle, looking almost longingly toward the east.

"Are you coming, or did you plan to stay here?" When she didn't answer, he climbed down and moved over to lay a hand on her shoulder.

"I promised them," she said vaguely, more to herself than to the man behind her. Cipher waited, not wanting to bother with the obvious question. She finally registered his presence. "I promised I would come back for the other slaves in the cantina where I used to work. Without their help I'd be dead. Or worse. I owe them this."

"We don't have time," Cipher informed her coldly. "I can't go chasing all over the planet freeing everyone you've ever spoken with, no matter how I feel about slavery. If I stay here much longer, people will start asking questions. Would you really compromise this entire operation for some dancers?" He turned and started back to his speeder.

"It won't take long. They're less than fifty kilometers from here!" Imara ran to stand between Summers and his goal. Seeing his determined expression, she grabbed his lapels and tilted her head to one side, allowing her hair to partially cover her metal eye. "Please? Just this one little thing, then we're done. I promise."

Summers ground his teeth in frustration, then looked up at the sky as if the flickering clouds held answers. Pragmatism warred with morals and... something else he would rather not think about. As he pondered the logistics of her request, realization struck.

"We only have the two speeders. How exactly did you intend to rescue these friends of yours?" Imara's resolve wavered for a moment. "It would take an incredible stroke of luck to get them out at all, let alone back to the ship and off the planet. Those kinds of missions are the most trying."

_Luck._ Imara let the word wander through her mind. _We make our own luck._ She laughed almost girlishly, then hurriedly got up onto her speeder. "We make our own luck!" she said aloud to answer his confused look. It didn't help any, but he was glad to see she was finally ready to go, and stepped up to his own bike. Before Summers was completely in his seat, she had revved up her engine and started out. Eastward.

"Hey!" he called after her. The smuggler turned and grinned at him, but didn't stop. Summers realized his only choices were to go after her or abandon her. Cursing women in general and this one in particular, he turned his vehicle around to follow.

Fifteen minutes later, they were cruising through an eerily quiet patch of jungle. Both riders resisted the impulse to speed up, knowing full well that to do so made it more likely they would miss some clue and fly headlong into a trap. Imara instinctively flattened herself to the bike as much as she could and kept up a constant scan of their surroundings. Cipher listened carefully for unusual noises, but had trouble hearing much over the wind as it rushed past them. He too kept a close eye on the foliage as they sped past. Whether by intuition or from actually sighting or hearing a threat, the duo simultaneously began to weave, frustrating the efforts of potential snipers. Unfortunately, the maneuver also tipped off the waiting forces that their presence was known.

"For the Resistance!" The cry went up all around the pair just before a hail of blaster bolts flew past them. A few shots scorched the sides of their vehicles, but crouching low to the chassis, along with their speed and evasive riding patterns, made the riders almost impossible to hit. Less than ten seconds later, they had left most of the resistance fighters behind them. Imara heaved a deep sigh of relief and called back to Cipher, "That was exci-"

A small explosion from behind her told her someone had gotten in a lucky shot and disabled Cipher's speeder. The vehicle started to fishtail wildly, throwing its rider off into the trees before it ground to a halt in a large patch of mud. Suddenly faced with the moral dilemma of fighting a group she would have once been part of or leaving her Imperial ally to die, Imara slowed her own speeder. After a few seconds (which felt like a few years to the beleaguered smuggler), she turned around and pushed hard on the throttle, hoping to get to Cipher before her opponents found him. Reaching the general area where he had fallen, Imara finally located him lying prone next to a large tree. She jumped off her speeder almost before it had stopped and rushed over to the agent. "Get up Cipher!" she whispered urgently. "This is no time for a nap." He groaned in response, but didn't open his eyes. Swearing under her breath, Imara touched the controls on her artificial eye to begin a diagnostic scan. _Concussion, no broken bones, no damage to the spine, minimal internal bleeding. Lucky bastard. _She stuck a kolto-filled syringe into his thigh and waited for the dispenser to empty.

"I don't know why you bothered with that. You're both dead, Imperial scum." The menacing voice came from only two meters behind her. Standing slowly, Imara turned around to face the speaker. To her dismay, the man who had threatened her was not alone. He was flanked by three other men, although tiny unnatural movements in the foliage indicated there were at least twice that many.

Imara mustered as much bravado as she could manage, considering the blasters aimed at her and her mostly-unconscious companion. "If you meant that, you'd have killed us already. What do you want?"

The bald man in front of the group matched her grin. "You're going to tell me exactly what you're doing in this area before I shoot you."

The smuggler almost laughed, despite her predicament. "What's the upside for me?"

"You get to choose just how painful your death is." Hearing more rustling from the sides, Imara looked around. This was shaping up to be a very bad day.


	11. Apprehension

_Author's notes: You can thank FrictionX42 for the idea of posting early as a Christmas present for everyone. You can thank Lucas Arts, Electronic Arts, and Bioware for allowing me to write about a universe to which they've claimed exclusive access rights. You can express your thanks with reviews. I like reviews. :)_

_Chapter 13 isn't done yet (I have a general outline, but suggestions are still welcome), so chapter 12 will come out on schedule - January 5, 2013. Until then, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!_

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**Apprehension**

"My name is Captain Imara Goodspeed. I work with the Republic. I'm not your enemy."

"Right, girl. Tell us another one," the bald leader taunted.

"I'm not one of those Imperial bastards!" she insisted, grateful the _actual_ Imperial was temporarily out of commission. "I'm Balmorran.

"She's telling the truth," growled a low voice from the brush off to her right – almost behind her. _They have us surrounded! _Imara thought, alarmed. _Good thing one of them seems to be on our side... but who? _She risked a glance back in the direction of the voice and saw a man, easily into his fifties, stand and snap his blaster rifle into place across his back. "Mostly, anyway. Tell them your real name, little one." He stepped out to join the group's leader.

Imara studied the man, trying to figure out why he looked so familiar. Maybe if the close-cropped brown hair was a little longer, and had less gray... "Kestor?"

"No, that's _my_ name. But if you know me, then chances you really are Imara Mathon." Imara almost ran to the man, then remembered at the last moment the Imperial she was (ironically) protecting from the other members of the resistance.

"Well that's just great," snarled the first speaker, still training his weapon on the pair. "We're all just one big happy family, aren't we? And I suppose this guy is your long-lost nephew, eh Kes?"

"Never seen him before, Aed." Before Imara could speak, Aed lowered his blaster to put it in line with the prone agent and pulled the trigger. Imara barely had time to let her knees collapse to intercept the shot with her hip, otherwise it would have been a clean shot to the agent's head.

"He's with me," she said through clenched teeth. "You wanna kill him, you gotta go through me to do it." She almost had cause to regret her words when Aed brought his blaster to bear on her own head. She raised her weapon, determined to go down fighting.

"That's enough!" Kestor bellowed. "Aed, stow it. I've known this kid since she was a baby. She's no threat to us. And if this boy is working with her, he can probably be trusted too." Kes looked at Imara directly. "Provided you've learned a little more discretion in choosing your traveling partners. _Can_ he be trusted?"

Imara looked down, not sure of the answer and not willing to admit it to the man, then glanced behind her to consider the barely-conscious agent. Finally she looked back at Aed, who was glaring steadily at her. Clearly he was waiting for her to say something – anything – to justify a quick and violent end to the conversation.

They both looked up when Kestor's laughter started rumbling. Apparently he had correctly interpreted the silent exchange.

"Still picking up strays? Hopefully this one is better than the last." He might have had something else to say, but guilt caused Imara's temper to flare white-hot.

"What was I supposed to do, Kestor? It's not like he was wearing an Imperial uniform! As far as I could tell, he was Balmorran, and he was hurt." Kestor realized she was talking about the agent from eleven years ago, not the man lying on the ground behind her. "I didn't see you calling him out either. No one else could tell, so don't you go blaming everything that happened on me!"

"There you go, flying off the handle again. You really do need to learn to control your temper, little one. Who ever said I blamed you? The few others I've managed to find don't blame you either."

"Others?" The fire in her voice died instantly. She got painfully to her feet, but never took her eyes off Kestor. "Others made it? Who?"

"You'll see when we get back to camp. Sorry to say it, but you're a prisoner until we're sure where your loyalties lie." Answering Imara's shocked expression, he elaborated. "A lot can happen to a person in a decade."

Aed spoke up. "Blindfold them. If they're Imperials, we don't want them leading their filthy friends to our base later."

Imara didn't notice another rebel off to her right jerk his head in her direction then point to his own eye. For some reason unknown to her, Aed studied her a moment longer, then nodded. After that, a white light exploded behind her left eye just before everything went black.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" Kestor's enraged shout snapped Summers out of his daze, although no one took notice of the agent's tiny jolt. "I told you I'm vouching for her. You said you'd blindfold them. Why in all the void did you feel the need to knock her out?"

Summers remained as still as possible while he took in the scene. Imara was lying in a heap in front of him, they were surrounded by men with blasters pointed at them, and at least two of those men seemed to be having a disagreement about how to treat their prisoners. Realizing that any action could potentially endanger the smuggler as well as his own life, he opted to listen and wait for a better opportunity to present itself. _In the meantime, it's probably best if they think I'm still unconscious. At least one of these ruffians seem to be in favor of letting us live, and I don't want to say anything to change that. _He listened intently as the rebel in front of him – Aed - explained the potential uses of Imara's cybernetic eye, then as the lieutenant – Kes – berated the leader once more before finally conceding the point. Once they reached an agreement, Kes walked over to Imara, carefully picked her up, then signaled for another pair of men to rouse, blindfold, and escort the other prisoner.

Aside from several near-falls (and a wrenched shoulder from the guard keeping Cipher on his feet), the walk to the rebel encampment was uneventful. By the sound of it, there were a handful of vanguards dealing with the wildlife ahead, and another few rebels behind the group making sure their trail would be near impossible to follow. _No wonder we haven't been able to find most of them. They're quite good at what they do._ Cipher couldn't help but admire the efficiency and thoroughness of the rebels' tactics, even as he studied those tactics for exploitable weaknesses. He felt a strange pang of guilt for doing so, but dismissed it as unprofessional. Love of a woman, even a freelancer working for the Republic, should not keep him from doing his job.

_Love?_ Summers lost track of his surroundings for a moment as the word dominated his thoughts. _True, she's quite attractive, but... _He mentally shook himself to restore his senses. _Not now. I'll deal with that later._

* * *

Less than an hour later (but after enough twists, turns and backtracking to completely confound the agent), Summers was shoved into a tent. With military precision, his hands were bound behind him and his blindfold was removed. He looked over to see Kes straighten from gently laying Imara on a cot, and felt relieved she was relatively unharmed. Either his concern was evident in his expression or the larger man had intended to talk to Summers anyway, because Kes moved over to sit next to him after he had draped a ratty blanket over the unconscious woman.

"So just who are you?" Kes asked without preamble. "I know an Imperial when I see one. I've been killing your kind for over a decade on this hellhole of a planet. But for some reason my niece is working with you. So tell me what makes you so special."

"Your... niece?" Summers swallowed hard, recognizing the depth of his current predicament. This man could either be a powerful ally within the camp, or the instrument of his death. Several plausible stories floated through his awareness, but he realized any of those would be immediately seen as false once Imara woke up. There really was only one option available. Fortunately, he was given a moment to consider how to phrase his explanation while Kes answered his muttered question.

"Not by blood. A few of us sort of adopted the children whose parents were killed in the initial bombardment. That was a hard time for everyone, thanks to your people. Especially for the children. Since I was the one who found her folks, she became my ward. Now I want to know what my little girl is doing running around this planet with scum like you. And what the hell happened to her eye?"

Kestor's tone made it abundantly clear the answer to the second question was of greater importance, so Summers addressed that first. "I met her on Nar Shadaa about a month ago. She already had the cybernetics in place, but she never told me why she needed them. She's here with me because I needed an outside agent to deal with a problem he-e-e-ere." Summers suddenly found himself up in the air and being shaken like a rag doll, causing the last word to come out in several syllables.

"_You're_ the reason she's here? What in all the bloody galaxy did you think you were doing bringing _anyone _to this forsaken planet?! There is nothing so important that it warrants putting her at risk like that! She was one of the lucky ones who finally made it OFF this mudball, and you brought her back? Why, dammit?" Kestor shook the unfortunate agent again with each sentence for emphasis.

"Huldar!" Cipher Nine managed to shout, nearly biting off his tongue in the process. His gamble that this man would bear no more warm feelings toward Cipher Five than the equally fiery Balmorran across the room proved successful, although Kes still eyed the now-seated man warily.

"Talk. What about Huldar?" The menacing rumble promised no second chances.

"He's dead. I needed her to make that happen."

"Why didn't you do it yourself? Last I checked, your kind were always stabbing each other in the back."

Cipher figured a version of the truth would probably be more conducive to his survival than flatly admitting he was also in Intelligence. "The Empire keeps accountability of its citizens. If I had been there when he was killed, it would have been traced back to me. Believe me, it would have been far simpler to do it myself, but that just wasn't a viable option. I needed outside help."

Kestor knelt to get a better look at the younger man. "So you helped Imara hunt down that gutter scum and get revenge. I've been looking for that bastard since I broke free all those years ago. How the blazes did _you_ manage to pull it off?"

Cipher Nine shrugged modestly. "I have connections."

"Connections. Huh." Kes chuckled darkly. "And you used these 'connections' to track down the one responsible for the deaths and enslavement of thousands of my people and make him pay. He did pay, didn't he?"

"I wasn't there," Summers admitted, "but if your niece's expression was any indication, he paid dearly."

Kestor laughed again, this time a deep rumble from his belly. "No wonder she was willing to take a blaster bolt for you. Any Imperial willing to go against that slime-covered pile of bantha poodoo can't be all bad."

Summers' eyes widened. "She did _what_? When?"

"You must have hit that tree harder than I thought. Not all of us are so generous when it comes to strangers, especially not with Imperials. Can you blame us?" Summers shook his head, still too stunned to speak. "You'd be dead if she hadn't gotten in the way. I don't know anyone, even Imara, who would do that for someone they didn't care about. So tell me again: Who are you to my little girl?"

Summers sat in silence for a moment, shocked by the events Kestor had revealed to him. "I... I don't know."

"Then I'll leave you alone to figure it out." Kes stood up and dusted off his pants. "Don't try anything; you're still a prisoner. But I'll make sure you're treated well." With that, he pushed the tent flap out of the way and disappeared.

Imara awoke not long after Kes departed, choking back bile and sporting a splitting headache. Between that and the constant flow of visitors – other Balmorrans, judging from the conversations – Summers had no chance to ask her about what he had learned from the other man.

He listened quietly as the redhead told at least some of them about his part in tracking down the other agent. Most shot him a few glances, unsure what to make of him, but an older lady came over and pinched his cheek, pulling out some of his beard in the process. "Maybe there's still hope for you people," she told him as a pretty blonde girl joined the pair.

The blonde just laughed. "Grandmother, they're rotten to the core and you know it. Kes and the others are just giving him enough rope to hang himself, that's all."

With his hands tied behind his back, Cipher could only shrug. "Maybe that's true," he commented in a voice bearing a striking resemblance to their Balmorran accent, "but I have no intention of being hanged, shot, stabbed, or otherwise killed today." His gaze dropped as he remembered just how close he had come to that being untrue. Not wanting to end the conversation on a sour note, he met the younger woman's eyes again. "I'm here by accident. I'm not trying to bring any of your secrets back to the Empire, and frankly I don't have any intention to do so." To his own surprise, he realized he actually meant it. These rebels were not what he had been led to believe they were. They were more...

"Don't do that." Imara's scolding tone from across the room caught Summers off guard, causing him to stop mid-thought.

"Don't do what?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"I'm not gonna lie to them, and neither are you. Use your own voice." Imara drew her shoulders together in a gesture of discomfort. "Besides, it's weird hearing you speak without your accent."

"See?" The girl next to him crowed triumphantly. "I told you they can't be trusted. They'll do anything, tell any lie to get what they want, and to the void with everyone else."

"And how many lies have you told?" he calmly asked her, his usual accent restored. Cipher forcibly kept his posture straight and relaxed when it looked like she was going to kick him, but she only spat in the dirt next to him and stalked off. "That's different," she muttered as she stormed out of the tent.

"Don't pay her any mind," the older woman spoke up. "She has a lot to be angry about, but she'll learn not everyone completely agrees with the people they follow. If Huldar taught us anything, it's that there are as many different types of Imperials as there are everyone else. I'm sure you're a good fellow."

"You always were an optimist, Koemi," Kestor rumbled from the doorway. "You really are the heart of this whole operation, you know that?" The woman preened a little at the praise. Kestor continued, "Would you do me a favor? There are a couple people who tangled with some of the wildlife and could use your attention."

Koemi pinched Summers' cheek again before leaving, causing him to wince. Kestor chuckled at the elderly woman, then beckoned to Cipher. "Come with me."

Cipher managed to get his feet under him – one leg was nearly asleep, and having his hands bound didn't help any - then silently followed Kes from the tent. The older man looked back at the prisoner, noted his distinct lack of expression, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't look so glum. It's not like you're going to be executed. Not to my knowledge, anyway. A couple of my friends want to talk to you about your 'connections', that's all. If anything, this could work out to your advantage. It all depends on how much you decide to cooperate with us."

_I somehow doubt that,_ Cipher scoffed. _Desperate people like these aren't known for mercy. But maybe..._ He turned an idea over in his mind as Kestor held open the flap of another, smaller tent for him. The lieutenant let the heavy cloth fall between them, then departed. Cipher waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light in this tent, finally recognizing the presence of two other men in the room. Both considered him carefully, showing no emotion in their body language or faces. Summers suppressed a shiver. He had seen that mask in the mirror enough times to be able to identify the pair.

* * *

"So when are we leaving?" Imara finally asked after she and Kestor had shared news of events from the past eleven years. "I have one more stop to make, a promise to keep, then we can get you out of here. We can start rebuilding! Or maybe start over on a new world. There are lots of places the Empire doesn't have troops. I've been to a few." She knew she was babbling at this point, but something in her uncle's face was disquieting, as if he had something to say that he knew she didn't want to hear. When she finally worked up the nerve to ask what was wrong, he just shook his head.

"Why don't you tell me about this promise of yours, first," he countered.

Imara eyed him, frowning, before answering. "You already know they sent me to a cantina a ways east of the capital; not far from here, I think. Long story short, I promised myself I'd come back for the others. Ci- my friend and I were on our way there when you... well, when you found us," she finished quietly. She noticed his eyebrow twitch at her slip, so she pressed on. "Maybe you could spare a few men to help me get them out of there. Please? I might not get another chance to do this."

"The Drowned Rat, right?" She nodded affirmation. "That would have been a wasted trip. Another cell went in after some moff a few years ago. When they were done, they burned the whole place to the ground." He raised a hand to forestall Imara's outraged response. "Don't worry. They got the girls out first. Most of them have already been smuggled offworld." His face split into a smile. "I'm proud of you for coming back for them, but they're already taken care of."

Imara relaxed some on hearing the news. "Then that just leaves you and the others here. I'm sure we can fit a decent number on the ship. The old and young ones will have to go first, but I can probably make it back in about..." She stopped to do a few quick calculations in her head, but was interrupted before she could come up with a timeframe.

"We're not coming with you, little one." Kestor's voice carried as much pride as sadness in his declaration. "We're in the perfect position to beat the Empire. It's easy to hole up and strike out at people from the safety of your own planet, but when those people are hitting you from inside your own walls... well, it's not so easy then."

"What? You're kidding, right? I can't just abandon you here. Were you planning on spending the rest of your lives on this miserable rock?" Imara's confusion and concern were endearing to the older man, causing him to laugh. She looked almost wounded by the sound, so Kestor quickly explained.

"You're not abandoning us, Imara. We may not have chosen to come here, but this is our life now. Believe me, there have been opportunities to leave, and some of our people have taken them. Most said they were going to Coruscant, to try to convince those idiot Republic bureacrats to help us get our planet back. I think your friends from the cantina were in that group. Others went to help the resistance back home, or back to their own homeworlds. The rest of us... we want to make a difference here. As far as I'm concerned, when the Empire finally agrees to give us back our home – to _take_ us home – then our work here is done. To the best of my knowledge, everyone else here feels the same way. You tell your agent friend that, too. We're not leaving until things have really changed."

Imara's head swirled with everything Kestor had just told her. She brought her left hand up to her face, covering her left eye for a moment, then moved her hand back over her scalp, giving the back of her neck a quick massage before looking up again. "You really mean that, don't you? You're staying here." She shook her head as her adoptive uncle nodded. With a resigned sigh, she also nodded, reluctantly accepting the fact. _I should have known. They're the ones who taught me to be as stubborn as I am. They'll be alright. They'll be fine..._ In spite of those reassurances, her good eye misted anyway. She didn't resist when the man drew her in for a hug, despite the many years since the gesture had felt right or comfortable for her. After a moment, she was even able to return the hug.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, interrupting the long-needed solace. Imara whirled around, embarrassment mingling with frustration, to face her dark-haired counterpart – now unshackled. The emotions still buzzing in her mind snatched up the lingering distrust for the agent and had her at his throat with his own vibroknife before either of the two men could blink.


	12. Turning the Tables

_Author's notes: I don't own Star Wars, yada yada yoda..._

_Sorry about cutting chapter 11 so abruptly. If I had included the rest of the scene, the chapter lengths would have been terribly unbalanced. Besides, who doesn't like a little heart-pounding suspense every now and then? Anyway, the next couple chapters are ready to go, so I feel comfortable moving my schedule up a little. A week early and without further delay, here's the conclusion of this story arc._

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**Turning the Tables**

"You're too dangerous to live," Imara growled. Summers didn't speak or move, fully aware of how unstable the woman was at that moment. Even Kestor seemed to be shocked by the sudden change in her demeanor. Both waited breathlessly for her to continue.

"You know where these people are, now. _My _people. What's to keep you from taking that information back to your headquarters, hm? What's to keep you from betraying us?" Her voice shook slightly at the notion, but the hand holding the knife was steady.

When he was sure she was done speaking, Cipher took as deep a breath as his situation would allow, then answered. "Those are valid concerns, my d-"

"DON'T call me that!" The edge of the knife pressed in a little more, drawing a few drops of blood.

Cipher closed his eyes to recenter his thoughts. "Those are valid concerns," he repeated more quietly. "Or would be if I were anyone else. These people," he glanced up at Kestor, "...have very nearly the same goals I do. It would not be in my best interest to impede their efforts. You know perfectly well how I feel about our current government." Summers looked Imara square in the eye, daring her to dispute him. The knife wavered slightly, so he took a chance and attempted to move it aside. It didn't budge, but neither did she increase the pressure.

He addressed Kestor next. "Your former SIS agents and I have finished our chat. They now have the information they need to eliminate specific targets, instead of striking out blindly. Your forces will be much more effective at changing things now." _And the Empire won't suffer needlessly_, he added silently.

Kes dipped his head gratefully. "I know what that must have cost you. You're no traitor to your Empire; that much is apparent. But you helped us anyway. You have our deepest thanks."

Cipher retrieved his knife from Imara's suddenly nerveless fingers, still looking at the rebel lieutenant. "It is not a bad thing to remove a gangrenous limb." He barely seemed convinced of his own words, but continued anyway. "The way I see it, I'm saving lives. If you cut down the corrupting influence in the Empire, our citizens benefit just as much as your people."

Kestor brought a hand up to his chin, digesting the news and the new perspective. "You're a good man. Too bad you're on the wrong side." Summers tensed, expecting another attack. He went almost as numb as Imara when Kes spoke next. "That doesn't matter right now. You're doing what's right, and that's the important part. Now, I have work to do. You make sure my girl gets back to her ship safe and sound, got it?"

"You have my word," he replied sincerely.

"And don't come looking for us again. We're moving camp after you leave, and the next group might not be so forgiving." Both men laughed, albeit for different reasons.

"I hadn't planned on it. Even this time was an unscheduled stop."

"Then you'd better get moving before you're missed. I'd feel terrible if one of our allies on the inside got found out. Some of our men have felt firsthand how the Empire deals with dissentors and spies."

Cipher winced slightly, both at the implication and in memory of how close he had come to a similar fate years ago. "Working toward a common goal does not make us allies. This will not happen again."

A knowing smile touched Kestor's lips before he gestured toward the tent flap. "Whatever you say, agent. Your speeders are outside; our mechanics have fixed the engine on yours. Now get out of here." He closed a hand over Imara's left shoulder as she turned to follow Cipher from the tent. "You take care of yourself, hear me? If you see any of our people out there, you tell them we're alive and well, and fighting to get back our home."

Imara covered the larger hand with her own, not trusting her voice. She gave her uncle one last look with her good eye, then hurried to her own speeder.

* * *

The last rays of sunlight tried vainly to penetrate the dense cloud cover as the pair zoomed back toward the spaceport. Both were lost in thought, not that conversation would have been possible over the wind rushing past them. Finely tuned senses kept them from blundering into more trouble on their way, but other than that each was more or less oblivious to the surroundings. In spite of this, they made it back to the ship without incident, leaving the speeders with the droid outside.

"Imara..." Summers started. She paused halfway up the ramp, waiting. After a minute, he shook his head. "Go get settled in. But I'd like to speak with you later. In private."

The redhead raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. Once on board, she went straight to the refresher for a much-needed shower, ignoring Kaliyo's acid comments and Vector's questioning look when she passed them.

When she had finally washed away the last remnants of the day's gruesome activities, Imara dressed in clean clothes thoughtfully left by Twovee and headed toward the quarters she was sharing with the agent. To her surprise, he was sitting at his desk with a piece of paper and an odd-looking writing utensil. _Paper again. It's almost cute._ She stood in the doorway for a few minutes, just watching lines flow from Cipher's hand onto the crisp white page. He didn't seem to be writing or drawing anything in particular, just... doodling.

"Are you going to stand there all evening?" Summers spoke suddenly, ending Imara's contemplation. He had stopped moving the pen, but was still facing away from her.

She stepped inside the room, letting the door close behind her. "Sorry, I wasn't sure if I caught you at a bad time or something."

"Not at all. This is just a habit I picked up to relax the mind."

"You mean it's not work? That's new." She studied the paper again. "Speaking of which, what IS on your mind? You said you wanted to talk."

Summers tucked the implements away neatly into a drawer, then stood and walked over to where Imara still stood by the door. Freshly showered, she smelled incredible. Nothing readily identifiable, but that was a good thing when one's job involved trying to remain undetected. And yet...

He took a few seconds to enjoy the scent before speaking. "Are all Balmorrans as unpredictable as you and the ones back at that camp?" He said the words as lightly as he could manage, not wanting to make them sound like an accusation.

"Unpredictable? What do you mean?"

"First, there's the fact that you nearly killed me. That much I can understand. But before that, you took a hit for me," Summers said, still bewildered by the fact. He placed one hand on the right side of her waist and ran the other lightly over her left hip, noting with relief the corresponding scorch mark on her jacket; obviously it could have been much worse. "Why did you do that?"

"Oh, that. I couldn't just let him kill you. You were my ticket off that rock," she teased, a small smile curling her lips. "Besides, whether I like to admit it or not, you've taken good care of me. Balmorrans always repay their debts." The smile became a wince when he gave an appreciative squeeze, earning a look of concern.

"Let me have a look at that." Moving slowly to allow Imara to object if she chose, Summers knelt and moved her pants down just enough to expose the injury. He was greeted by a purple and green bruise the size of his fist. Noting his expression, Imara undid her jacket to move its armor-plated bulk out of the way. When she saw the colorful splotch, she just laughed.

"That's not an injury. That's nothing."

"Yes, but it's a 'nothing' you shouldn't have. Unless you make it a habit to take blaster bolts for people you hate."

Summers looked up after a moment when she didn't respond, and saw a pensive look on her face. He gathered his feet under him to stand again, but the movement startled her out of her reverie. She placed one hand on his shoulder.

"I don't hate you."

This simple admission knocked his leg back out from under him. It was far from a declaration of love, or even friendship, but considerably more than he had ever expected to hear from one who had suffered so much at the hands of his own government. Cautiously, hoping fervently he wasn't going to cause her to retract the statement, he asked, "I thought you hated all Imperials. What changed?"

"I still hate the Empire." Her gaze shifted back from a point on the wall to his face. "But you're no ordinary Imperial. You're..." She searched for an accurate description for a second, then gave up with a shrug. "You're different."

Summers waited patiently for her to elaborate. When he heard nothing more, he prompted, "That's a good thing?"

To his surprise, she gave him a warm smile. "You care about your people. Hell, you care about _my_ people. Don't tell anyone I said this, but I wish they had more like you. Things would probably be much better if they did."

"Don't worry, my dear. My lips are sealed." He punctuated the assurance with a kiss to the bruise she had earned on his behalf, then stood, still holding her waist. "You're no ordinary woman, either." Passion began its slow burn through his body, but he kept tight control over his actions, instead choosing to let her make the first... _okay, second_, he admitted... move. To his frustration, she moved away from him, shaking her head.

After dealing with countless amorous men in her life, it was easy for her to recognize his intentions. "Forget it. Last time was business." She almost took back her words when she saw how much they stung him. She did, however, adopt a more gentle tone. "You may be an unusual Imperial, but you're still one of them. I'm not sure I could live with myself after..." Imara hesitated, uncharacteristic modesty bringing a pink tinge to her face and neck. "As far as I know, you don't even have a name! What would you do in my place, Cipher?"

"Is that what this is about? My name?" He folded his arms and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the decision. With a sigh, he explained, "An agent's identity is typically a closely guarded secret to protect his or her loved ones, and often the agent as well, from reprisal by people outside and even within the system. Living with a designation also serves to remind us that we are working toward something greater than ourselves."

"Spare me the patriotic speeches," Imara interrupted. "If you don't want to tell me, fine. Just say so. Not like I expect you to trust me, since we're on opposi-"

"Summers."

"-ite sides... What? What about summer? What does that have to do with anything?"

The agent chuckled at her. "You went into the heart of the Empire because I asked it of you. You chased down another agent with nothing more than the information I gave you. Either of these could easily have been a trap. To be honest, I'm surprised you decided to come at all. To top it all off," he gestured to her hip, "you saved my life. Twice, if you count the incident with the Republic fleet. After all that, I would be no kind of man if I didn't trust you... even if you did try to kill me." Imara wordlessly apologized, looking sheepish. "Besides, as you're so fond of saying, you're a freelancer. We're not on opposite sides at all."

"Summers. That's your name," Imara acknowledged.

"Joseph Summers, at your service," he confirmed with an exaggerated bow. Recalling her earlier statement, he added, "As far as being an Imperial is concerned..." With almost no effort, he suppressed his accent. "We can pretend that's not the case. Now I'm just like you."

"Stop it!" she laughed, playfully pushing him. "That's creepy."

He grinned and continued speaking like a Cartel mercenary. "Whaddya gonna do about it?" He grabbed her hands and held them where they were still placed on his chest. "Go ahead, make me stop. I dare yo-mmppf." The last word (and the nasal Cartel accent) were successfully halted by Imara's own mouth.

She held the kiss for a long while until she was sure he had forgotten his alternate voice. Finally, she broke away, cocked her head to one side, and challenged, "Well, Joseph Summers, you were saying?" She laughed harder as he stood there, dumbstruck by the twin blows of a kiss and his name coming from her lips. "Wow. An Imperial with nothing to say. That's gotta be a first. I thought you people loved to hear yourselves talk."

Growling with barely contained frustration, Summers pulled her close again. "Some things don't need words," he whispered. Moving his hand up to her shoulders, he began to push the already-open jacket down her arms.

"I already told you, last time was just business," Imara protested. However, the upward curve of her mouth, the slight ripples of her lightweight shirt with each rapid heartbeat, and the fact that she wasn't pulling away – _Not to mention she didn't say anything about _this_ time_, Summers realized – completely contradicted the implication of her words. The agent decided to press his luck.

"Right. Just business." His voice took on a lower timbre, although whether it was that or the draft as her coat fell to the floor causing her to shiver was anybody's guess.

"Right." Imara never broke eye contact with the man. "We're not even friends." She didn't resist as he removed the gloves and bracers from hands still on his chest, then moved those hands to his own shoulders. She did have to take a step backward in order to keep from falling as he slowly advanced, leaving his long coat in a heap behind him. Memories of their encounter a few weeks prior rose unbidden to Imara's mind as she viewed the agent's lean figure. This time though, the cold loathing for her actions was unexpectedly replaced by a warmer sensation born of shared experiences. Each had held the other's life in their hands, and both had emerged stronger for it.

"Friends," Summers drawled the word, pulling her back into the moment. "I'm not interested in being friends." He wrapped his arms around her back, pulling off his own gloves behind her, then dropping those to the floor as well. When that was done, he ran his hands up the outside of her shirt, causing her to close her good eye and arch her back a little in response. Imara laced her fingers behind the agent's neck to keep herself upright. He marveled at her form as the thin material of her shirt fell against her chest and stomach, perfectly outlining every curve.

When she felt his hands move back down to her hips, she straightened and opened a bright green eye to consider her partner once more. "That suits me just fine. So long as we're clear on that." All doubts of her willingness flew from Summers' mind as Imara drew him in for another kiss.

Before he gave in entirely, he carefully ran his hands up her sides and down her arms, nearly encircling her forearms once he passed the elbows. Imara drew back and gave him a curious look as he traced each finger and the space between them.

"What are you doing?" she asked, slightly irritated by this quirky behavior.

"Making sure you don't have any tranquilizer darts."

Imara would have fallen over from laughing so hard if she hadn't had her arms over Joseph's shoulders. "Aw, you're no fun!" she mocked him.

"Fun?" Summers finished his inspection and placed his arms around her waist again. "I suppose I could give you some clichéd line about how much fun I am, but..." He guided her backward the last few steps to the bed. "...I have a better idea."


	13. Parting Words

_Author's notes: You're back! Awesome. I was afraid I'd lose you after the climax of the story. (Stop that! I meant in the literary sense!) There are still a few little details to wrap up, so after informing you of my lack of ownership of SWTOR and all that, I'll get right to it. By the way, I'm stepping up my schedule a little. I want to see how this ends as much as you do, so we're getting two chapters a week from here on out._

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**Parting Words**

"You're cheating." Imara threw her remaining two hand cards on the table in disgust.

"We most certainly are not." Vector looked offended. "What would we stand to gain from cheating?"

"'_I'_, Vector." Imara rubbed her finger along the outside edge of her ocular implant, as was her habit when she was annoyed. Ignoring the obvious answer to his question (credits, of course!) she said instead, "Although now that you mention it, I'm pretty sure you have some bug around here looking at my cards, don't you?"

"The fingerlings are hibernating. Traveling through hyperspace upsets them," the Joiner replied mildly. "Although w- I could just as easily accuse you of cheating using your cybernetics. However, hurling accusations is not conducive to mutual enjoyment of the game."

"Neither is losing four matches straight," Imara grumbled. Despite a temptation to have that very modification added to her hardware, Imara preferred to maintain some sense of honor. She could not actually see the faces of Vector's cards, and told him just that.

His dark eyes grew wider, especially when she demonstrated the actual scanning ability of her artificial eye and listed his weaponry. After having thousands of others living in the corner of his mind for several years, the somewhat invasive technique was hardly unsettling, just unexpected. "Where did you get such a useful device?"

The smuggler grinned slyly. "I ain't sayin'. You really think I want a bunch of Imperials knocking down the door and grabbing the good doctor to add to their own resources?" Vector inclined his head, accepting the logic. "Anyway, I've lost about as much as I care to lose for one day. I think I'm gonna go find out what that droid is making for dinner. You coming?"

"2V-R8 invariably gets upset when we enter the galley. Thank you, but we will refrain."

The redhead shrugged. "Suit yourself." She gathered her cards, put them back into their case, then departed.

Imara glided past Kaliyo, who was standing across from the engine room, apparently absorbed in watching the machines turn. Cold grey eyes followed the human woman, but otherwise the Rattataki did not acknowledge her presence.

As soon as Imara had stepped through the hatch leading from the cargo hold to the lower level where the galley was located, Kaliyo caught up with her. Imara tensed, ready for an attack, so she was surprised when the pale woman fell companionably into step beside her on the short flight of stairs.

"So, you and Summers, huh? When you two left, it looked like you couldn't stand him. I don't know what he saw in you either, to be honest. But when you got back yesterday, it looked like you two were pretty chummy. What happened out there?"

The smuggler stopped walking and looked at Kaliyo. The conversational tone used by the tattooed woman did very little to diminish the blaring klaxons in Imara's mind. Still, it was a reasonable question. "You know how it is when you're fighting alongside someone. If there's not at least some trust, one of you is gonna die. Or both." She answered carefully, trying to avoid giving away anything the other woman might not already know.

Kaliyo laughed harshly. "I've been working with that man for a long time. We've gone through a lot together, but we haven't done very much together, if you know what I mean." Kaliyo cocked her head at Imara, studying her. "What makes you so special?"

_Maybe because I'm not psychotic?_ Imara swallowed the thought, opting to keep this conversation civil. She shrugged instead, stalling until she could come up with a more diplomatic response. Finally she said, "I don't see what difference it makes. We're back on Tatooine tomorrow, then I'm outta your hair." Grinning at her unintentional joke, she glanced at the Rattataki's smooth scalp. "You know what I mean."

"That some kinda racial joke?" Kaliyo's psuedo-friendly demeanor dropped away immediately. "You got something against my kind? Just another alien-hating human, are you?" Without waiting for a reply, she shot her hand out to grab Imara's hair, wishing desperately she had her knife to chop it off, then slice the grinning smuggler a new smile across her throat. _Of course, there's nothing wrong with punmmeling an opponent to death_, Kaliyo thought, remembering doing just that on several occasions.

To her frustration, her target wasn't where it had been a moment ago, leaving her hand to clench around empty air.

"You're gonna have to be faster than that to catch me!" The taunt came from below and a little to the right of Kaliyo's eye level. It was immediately followed by a devastating punch to the gut, made even more painful since Imara added the strength of her legs as she rose from her crouch. The Rattataki doubled over, working to keep from retching and wondering if she would be able to block or dodge the next attack. To her surprise, the expected onslaught didn't come.

While Kaliyo wrestled with her breathing, Imara was busy wrestling with her conscience. This was the third time the other woman had attacked her – virtually unprovoked, although it certainly didn't take much to provoke her! By all rights, she should kill Kaliyo and be done with it. She flexed her fingers, imagining Kaliyo's windpipe slowly being crushed beneath them, watching in her mind's eye as her fingernails dug into the other woman's throat and spilled her blood down the stairs.

_Enough._ For some reason, the thought of killing again made Imara's skin crawl. Normally she could take out a dozen or more gangsters and Imperial soldiers in a day and not think twice about it, but those people had never really had names and faces for her. This time, though, the dark satisfaction she had felt with each blow she landed on Huldar was still on the surface of her thoughts. She could almost feel the oily film it was leaving, and shuddered. _Enough,_ she said silently. _I kill when I have to, but I'm not a murderer._ Double-checking to make sure her opponent was too winded to follow, she started back up the stairs. She had lost her appetite anyway.

"Where do... you think... you're... going?" Kaliyo managed between gasps.

"I'm done." Imara continued climbing, not looking at the other woman. "I'll be off this ship soon anyway. There's no point finishing you." She knew Kaliyo would try to resume the fight as soon as she was able, so even the careful footfalls behind her in the cargo hold less than a minute later were enough to bring her about, fist flying. The knuckles on her left hand connected solidly with the pale woman's right cheekbone. Kaliyo staggered back clutching her face, her momentum halted.

"You'll pay for that, bitch." Furious now, she charged recklessly. Calm as a Jedi, Imara clotheslined her, then knelt to slam her head on the deck, knocking Kaliyo out cold. After checking to make sure the other woman would survive (although she'd have a tremendous black eye and a splitting headache when she awoke), Imara heaved a resigned sigh and made her way to the bridge to watch the stars flow by.

From his concealment near the crew locker, where he had been gathering materials to work on an upgrade for the ship, Summers watched her go.

* * *

Sand swirled wildly around the sleek shape of the ship as the Phantom settled on the sun-baked surface of Tatooine, several kilometers out of sight of any sentries of either faction. Kaliyo and Vector had already been sent out on specific missions, so after their goodbyes – one with a regretful tone, one with barely-concealed hostility – they left the agent and the smuggler alone. After a brief argument, Summers finally convinced Imara it would be better if he walked her at least partway back to the Republic outpost. She was still shaking her head as he closed the hatch behind them.

"You trust me to go into Kaas City to deal with Moffs and Sith Lords, but you don't think I can handle a few kilometers of empty desert. You're an odd one, you know that?"

"I needed the break."

Imara looked around at the nearly lifeless dunes, then back at the straight-faced agent. "This wasteland isn't exactly the ideal place for a break. You'd be better off on Nar Shadaa. There's this one place in the Nikto Sector where you can... oh, clever. Very cute, Cipher."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Summers deadpanned. "Although I'm very interested in hearing the rest of what you have to say about that place in the Nikto Sector. I had precious little time for recreation during my last stay on that moon."

The smuggler did her best to keep from laughing. A twinge of pity worked its way into her mind. _He really doesn't get out much, I guess. I can't imagine having that much restric... yes, yes I can._ She did laugh then to shake away the bitterness. "If you ever get a chance, you should go check it out. The owner isn't real particular about his customers, so you should be just fine. Just keep a close eye on your credsticks."

"Thank you for the advice." Imara couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. She considered him for a few seconds, then changed topics.

"Of course, you'd probably like Osarian better."

"Why is that?"

The redhead listed off some of the planet's more attractive features, including the temperate climate and the expansive lakefront beaches. Noting his almost child-like curiosity, she continued on to a couple other locations she had visited in her few years as a spacer.

He listened intently as she described each location in vivid detail, occasionally interrupting herself with an anecdote or bit of trivia. Despite his best efforts, though, he had trouble imagining any of the fun and exotic destinations without picturing the fun and exotic smuggler standing there. He watched her short red hair whip around in the breeze, then heaved a deep sigh and continued walking.

Halfway to their destination, Imara turned to her unlikely companion. "So now what, Joseph? No matter how this ends, we're still on opposite sides, freelancer or not." She sounded almost sad to say those words.

Summers felt a thrill rush through him as she said his name, in spite of the rest of her statement. Something about it felt... liberating. Like a too-brief venture into fresh air after being in a cramped prison cell. He stopped, took her hand and, despite her silent protest, removed the thick glove. "I'll be closer than you think. Someone like you won't escape the notice of Imperial Intelligence for long. It's just a matter of making sure I, or one of the few people I trust, get assigned to those missions." He ran his thumb over the back of her hand as he spoke, admiring the stark contrast between the callused knuckles and the smooth skin surrounding them.

Imara laughed, but didn't pull her hand away. "My very own guardian, hm? How sweet of you."

The agent shrugged modestly. "It's the least I can do, my dear." She rolled her eye upward at the form of address, but he ignored it and continued. "You helped create a better Empire. For that, I am grateful."

"Yeah, I'm thrilled," she muttered sarcastically. "Before you know it, we'll all be one big, happy family."

"Hopefully."

"Keep dreaming, Imperial." The taunt elicited a long-suffering sigh, but it was tempered by an affectionate grin from the smuggler. "Tell you what. You convince your new government to leave Balmorra, then we'll see what happens."

"One step at a time. There are many changes which need to be made internally before the new leadership can start focusing on more distant issues." Imara's cheek quivered as one side of her mouth curled up in disgust. Summers continued hastily. "I'm truly sorry. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but it takes time to make any real changes to a government."

"Sure, whatever." Imara pulled her glove back on and resumed walking. After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Summers spoke again.

"What did you expect? I know you know how these things work. We did our part. Now it's up to the others to put things into motion. But if they move too quickly, they could undo everything we've accomplished."

The smuggler sighed and slowed her pace a little. "I know. It's frustrating, waiting for someone else to... LOOK OUT!"

Summers' momentary confusion cost him the split second he needed to dodge the armored figure flying toward him, courtesy of a rocket pack on the person's back. Both men – Summers was fairly certain his assailant was a man, anyway – landed heavily in the sand. He managed to roll away quickly enough to dodge the worst of the punches, but still caught a solid blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. After shoving an electrified knife into one of the creases in the attacker's armor – Summers silently thanked the man who had taught him to look for that opening - he quickly deployed a small shielding droid to absorb the next few hits while he worked to start breathing again. It turned out to be an unnecessary precaution; the other man had stopped swinging, temporarily unable to move. After a few seconds, the soldier growled and took up a defensive stance between Cipher and Imara rather than pressing the attack. He finally managed to extract the knife, then pulled out his own weapon.

Imara grabbed the armored man's blaster arm, pulling it back down to his side. "Corso, stop it! That's enough!" She used the leverage on the soldier's arm to swing herself into the space between the combatants, fairly certain neither would attack if he risked hurting her. _Life's a gamble, right?_ she mused wryly. Turning toward her shipmate again, she placed one hand on his chestplate while the other continued to restrain his right arm.

"What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be back at the ship." Noting Cipher's movement from the corner of her eye, she addressed him as well. "Don't you dare. You two are done fighting."

"Tell that to your friend," Summers quipped.

"What's _he_ doing here, Captain?" Corso relaxed his arm, but did not holster his blaster pistol. "He sounds like an Imperial. Please tell me you haven't switched sides."

"I'm on the same side I always was. I'm no more Imperial than you are. Now tell me what in all the galaxy you're doing out here."

The full-faced helmet turned down and away before Corso's voice issued out of it again. "I was waiting for you."

"You expect me to believe you've been out wandering around Tattooine this whole time, and just happen to be standing on my route to the ship when I get back? Try again, farmboy." Even through the armor, she could tell he was bristling at the name. _I don't give a damn. He's wrong and he knows it._

"No, this is just where I lost track of you on your way out. I figured you'd come back the same way, so when you called, I came out here to wait." He gestured angrily to Cipher. "In case there was any trouble."

"That was _you_? I thought I saw someone following me. Why didn't you just say something?"

Corso's silence was more eloquent than any excuse he could have come up with. Summers stood and interjected, "It seems he doesn't trust you to be able to take care of yourself. How insulting."

Imara shook her head at the observation, feeling a strong inclination to defend her friend. "You get used to it after a while. It's just one of his personality quirks." She faced Corso once more. "But it's not going to happen again, is it?"

"Captain, I promised I'd watch your back. As long as I'm able, that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

Imara dropped her head into her hands. "This is going nowhere." Considering both her would-be escorts, and her crew member's injury, she swiftly came to the only real solution. "Here's where we part ways," she told Summers. "Good fortune." Keeping one hand on Corso's right arm, she turned him around and started walking toward the outpost.

The soldier complied, but yelled back over his shoulder, "Next time I see you, Imperial, you're dead!"

Cipher's voice came to them from the empty desert off to their left. "Next time you see me, farmboy," he deliberately used the infuriating nickname Imara had called Corso earlier, "it will already be too late for you."

* * *

"Captain, he works for the _Empire!_" Corso stated for perhaps the tenth time during their walk back to Outpost Salara. Imara blew out a long sigh of frustration, torn between a desire to comfort and support her friend, and irritation with his malignment of a man who had been so good to her, nevermind she had done the same not long before.

The other times Corso had made this observation, muttering darkly in between, she had responded with a simple, "Yes, I know." This time, she stopped and turned to the soldier, facing him squarely. He had removed his helmet and was carrying it under one arm, so the confusion (_and hurt_, Imara noticed for the first time) was clear on his face as his rich brown eyes met her emerald green one. She did her best to ignore the tightness in her chest on seeing that expression. She opened her mouth to say something else, then shook her head and resumed walking.

Five minutes later, she changed her mind.

"Corso, what do you think of smugglers?" The question obviously caught the soldier off-guard, because he stopped in his tracks and stared at the woman walking a few steps ahead of him.

For a minute, he considered the possibility of this being some kind of trick question. _Does she want to know what I think of _her_ being a smuggler? Is that it? She must know by now I..._ Corso pressed his lips together, not wanting to think about feelings he couldn't share with her. When she finally noticed his footsteps had fallen off, and turned to face him, he answered her odd question.

"Captain, you do what you have to do. I learned a long time ago, 'If it's legal, it's not always right, and if it's right, it's not always legal'. If you're making peoples' lives better, then the rest doesn't matter."

Imara stood with her arms crossed, silently agreeing with his words. When he finished, he dug his toe into the sand, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. They stood there for a couple more minutes, not speaking. Imara was clearly waiting for him to say something else, but he had no idea what it was she wanted. Finally, she broke the silence herself. "So smugglers are good?"

The Mantellian opened and closed his mouth a few times before realization dawned. "What was it you two went to do? Somehow I can't see some Imp wanting to make things better for everyone else. That's just not their style."

"Normally, no," Imara conceded. "Don't get me wrong; I still won't turn my back on that one, but he..." She swung her hand in a circle at the wrist while she fumbled for words. "He actually has morals." She thought back to the last decent Imperial she met; the one who arranged for her to work at a construction site instead of facing the wrath of an Imperial officer. "Once every thousand years or so, you come across one of those."

"I don't like you taking chances like that, Captain," Corso complained, frowning. "You should have at least let me come along."

Looking at the twin suns still high in the sky, Imara opted to keep moving, gesturing her friend to walk beside her so they could converse more easily. "You two would have been at each others' throats the entire time, just like today." She pointedly refrained from mentioning the real reason they would have been at odds; faction had nothing to do with it. She had known almost since they met how the soldier felt about her, but his continued inability to address it directly showed a weakness she was unwilling to tolerate. _Besides, I really don't want a relationship. A little fun now __and then, maybe, but I can't... no way will I be hurt like that. _She had a hard time picturing the ronto herder ever doing anything to deliberately hurt her, but she just wasn't ready to take that chance. Not even with him.

Corso had no way to argue the point, so he fell back a few steps and resumed watching for possible threats from Sand People, aggressive wildlife, or Imperials wandering too far from their territory. He'd be damned if he let anything happen to _his_ captain.

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* * *

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_AN: Special thanks to readers/reviewers Moody Bloom and Ziggymia123 for reminding Imara about her fight with Kaliyo and Corso's attack on Summers. She would have forgotten to tell me about them otherwise._


	14. Momentos

_Author's notes: If you haven't been keeping up with "Questionable Cargo" by BuriedBeneath, I strongly recommend you go read that before reading this chapter. Go ahead, I'll wait._

_All done? You left her a review, right? Good. Now the stuff in this chapter will make more sense. This one was written jointly, with chapter 14 of QC ("The Unfortunate Truth") being Ray's perspective, and the page you're on being Imara's perspective. There_ are_ some key differences, so you shouldn't get bored. _:)_ (For the record, her fic and mine are slightly AU from each other, so nevermind the whole companion thing.) You know the whole rigamarole (such a fun word!) about not owning Star Wars and all that. Oh yeah, the song mentioned is copyrighted to them, too. Okay, I'm done talking. Enjoy!_

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**Momentos**

Once they had entered hyperspace and everyone was back to their usual pastimes, Imara settled in to try to relax a little. There was still one more unpleasant chore to take care of. She pulled the small box out of her jacket and held it up in front of her, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time what was inside. Whatever it was, it was probably important to the redhead's fellow smuggler and close friend. _As close as people can get in this business, anyway_, she thought bitterly. _And here I'm about to destroy that. _The next day, she finally worked up the nerve to punch in a familiar holofrequency. It chimed for a minute before a small, dark-haired woman answered.

"Well, if it isn't Imara Goodspeed." The figure crossed her arms. "Been a while."

The monochrome, grainy texture typical of holocommunications made it difficult to tell whether Captain Raya Dace was annoyed or teasing. Imara grinned anyway, assuming the latter. "Hey Ray. How's tricks?"

Raya shrugged casually. "Oh, you know. Blasters, credits, the usual. What've you been up to?"

"Heh. Most would say 'no good', same as always. Just finished a job and needing some down time; thought it might be fun to get a hold of one of my old friends." Imara heaved a mock sigh. "But the only one around was you."

Raya caught on immediately and played along, smirking. "Well y'know how we smugglers are. We're a wily bunch. Hard to know who to trust, and all that." The ebon-haired woman chuckled slightly before continuing. "It just so happens that I have some downtime myself. You just call to catch up?"

Imara shook her finger at the other woman, admonishing her for the slip. "Businesswomen, Ray. Businesswomen. And yeah, I try to keep in contact with people, make sure they're still alive and all that, yknow?" She gave a wry smile. Both knew full well the seemingly offhand comment was only half-joking. Breaking away from that depressing topic, Imara asked, "You got plans?"

"Not for a few days," Ray replied witha shake of her head. "You got somethin' in mind?"

Imara hedged for a moment, knowing full well the other captain wasn't fond of athletic activities. "Well... there's this one slope on Alderaan I've been itching to try." She paused expectantly, watching the image's eyes widen slightly.

"Uh huh."

"Oh cmon. You're okay with getting stabbed, shot at, and stars know what else, but you're afraid to slide down a little hill?" Imara concealed a smirk, confident she had won this argument.

"It ain't the hill I'm concerned about." Raya raised her right eyebrow (most would have lifted both, but an injury from her past killed the motor nerves to the upper-left part of her face), then curled her lips in a snarl. "It's the disgusting swirling wet mess that people call snow. I mean, I like Alderaan, but not because of the snow. That stuff can stay up there on the mountains, well away from me."

Imara snorted a laugh. "Snow? Really? You act like you're from Tatooine or something." She paused for a moment, then offered, "Tell you what. We can go out and pester some nobles at one of their fancy-schmancy cantinas afterward. My treat." _With what I'm about to tell you, it's the least I can do. _She was careful not to show any trace of the thought on her face, until a memory surfaced. _But if this trip to the cantina is anything like that first time, maybe that'll help lighten things up a little._

"Tempting," the smaller captain replied with a smirk of her own. "I have been itchin' to give my nobility impression another try. Nothin' more fun than showing the nobles how psychotic they are."

"Impression? _This_ I've gotta hear." Realizing something of this nature was invariably more fun in person, she switched gears. "How long d'you think it'll take you to get here?"

"Well, I'm on Nar Shadaa at the moment, but I have some stuff to clear up with my crew before I leave." Captain Dace checked a monitor off to one side. "I can be there tomorrow morning."

The casual reference to a crew caught Imara off guard. "Crew? Since when? I thought you wanted your space." They both laughed at the bad joke, then Ray shrugged.

"Well, you know me. I'm full of surprises."

"Heh. No kidding. How many people have found that out the hard way?" Being underestimated was one of the better parts of working as a female smuggler; Raya had the added advantage of her shorter stature. Most people who figured she was no real challenge usually found themselves on the wrong end of one of the tiny woman's smoking blasters, or at least wound up thoroughly embarrassed. Imara waved off the response. "I don't even wanna know."

"Oh, like you're one to talk," Raya retorted.

Imara allowed herself a swell of pride and a mischievious grin, remembering her own accomplishments, especially the more recent ones, like finally putting Huldar out of her misery. "Yeah, ain't it great?"

"One of the many things I love about this job."

The redhead nodded agreement. "So, tomorrow morning, right? I'll see you there." Imara tilted her head to the right, considering her next words. "Bring your new crew if you want."

"They got their own plans."

_ They? How many people has she picked up in the past couple months? Course, I can't really say too much about that, either._ Remembering the past six months with Corso, and later with Risha and Bowdaar, Imara almost missed the next part.

She was jerked back to the conversation when Ray started shaking her head. "'Sides, I'm not really taken with the idea of them seeing me humiliate myself on the slopes of Alderaan."

Imara just barely suppressed a laugh, not wanting to insult her friend. Shrugging to cover the slight motion, she answered, "Their loss. I think you'll do just fine. You can't do this job without a good sense of balance."

Raya glared at the other woman, but the expression lacked any real malice. "If I end up breaking somethin', I'm blaming you."

Imara pulled a medpac from one of her pockets and held it up, grinning slyly. "No worries. And no excuses. See you there, Ray. Good fortune!"

"Yeah, yeah, see you there." Raya rolled her eyes. With a smile and a brief wave, Imara flipped the switch to end the call. Moving over the the intercom, she set the frequency to broadcast across the entire ship.

"You guys have earned some shore leave. I'm headed to Alderaan; if anyone wants to be dropped off somewhere else for their break, let me know now." Over the next twenty minutes, she received a response from most of her crew members: Risha opted to use some of her personal earnings to go shopping, Bowdaar expressed interest in hunting some of the local wildlife – also on Alderaan, and of course Seetwo informed her he would remain behind to give the ship a thorough cleaning.

"There is wookie fur all over!" he complained. "Master Riggs has been somewhat careless while cleaning his weapons as well. I am truly grateful for the chance to restore your ship to its former pristine state, master." Imara laughed at the droid's description of the ship's alledged "former state", but didn't bother correcting him. She had one more person to talk to.

"Well, what's your plan?" she asked Corso once she located him. He was on the bridge, as usual, watching the hypnotic display of hyperspace travel.

"You're going off by yourself again, Captain. It's got me wondering if you trust m- us at all."

Corso looked back at her over his shoulder, giving her a look which clearly questioned her motives. Under any other circumstances, she would have been insulted. This time, she just sighed and told him, "Relax. I'm just going to have a chat with Captain Dace. She's an old friend of mine. We'll be fine. Now did you have anyplace special in mind for shore leave, or were you gonna help the droid clean the ship?"

"I could come with you." She saw the hopeful expression and started shaking her head "no" before he evened opened his mouth to suggest it.

"Girl time, Corso."

"So Risha's going?"

"Risha has other plans. Besides, she's not really the sports type anyway." _Having someone else along would just complicate things, too._ Finally she put her hands out to the side and said, "Look, I just need to know what planet you want to stop on. And I want your promise you won't follow me this time. You need to get out and do something for _you_, y'know?"

_Believe me, Captain, you have no idea how much I want to do just that._ Corso bit back the words, instead choking out a weak, "Anything you want, Captain."

* * *

Imara was waiting impatiently in the lobby of the spaceport when Raya emerged from the hangar area. She stood to meet the incoming captain, smiling warmly.

Captain Dace angled toward the other woman. "Imara. Good to see you again."

"Good to see you too, kid. We really need to do this more often." Despite being four years younger, Imara was fully ten centimeters taller - a fact she could seldom resist teasing the other smuggler about.

Raya rolled her eyes, looking up at the still-smiling redhead. "Kid? Just 'cause you're all the way up there doesn't mean I'm the kid here. If _I'm_ a kid, _you're_ a baby."

"At least this 'baby' isn't afraid of snow," Imara laughed, causing Ray to sputter.

"I'm not – You - ! Just 'cause I don't like something doesn't make me afraid of it." She grumbled something else under her breath, but Imara decided it wasn't worth it to find out what. She just laughed harder instead and started toward the exit.

"C'mon, Ray. We wanna get there before the sun gets too high."

"Please excuse me while I reign in my excitement," Raya deadpanned, then hurried to catch up.

Imara waited until her friend had fallen in beside her before tossing out another jibe. "And here I thought YOU were the adventurous one. Stars, you're starting to sound like..." She thought back to the agent's never-ending list of work to be done. _Maybe when this is all done, you can show me how a real vacation is supposed to be,_ he had said. Imara glanced over at Ray, then looked away, realizing that telling her about Summers was probably not a very good idea. She had enough bad news to deliver for one day. _For one YEAR,_ she thought.

"Nevermind," she finished lamely. Changing the subject abruptly, she asked, "You've never been skiing? Really?"

Captain Dace was no fool. She stared at Imara for a moment, knowing without a doubt the taller woman was hiding something. However, secrets went with the job, so she decided not to pry, and answered the verbalized question instead. "Nope. And I'm fairly certain I could go my whole life without experiencing it."

Imara barked a laugh. "Space that. I intend to actually LIVE while I'm alive."

"Right, because all these years I haven't been living," came the sarcastic reply. "Thanks for clearin' that up for me."

Imara shrugged a wordless "whatever", and opted to remain silent the rest of the way to the taxi stand.

It was a quiet day at the spaceport, so there were already four taxis lined up and waiting for passengers. The droid ushered them to the first one in line, then programmed it to take the pair to Wardpost Landa. Shortly after they had left the port, Imara leaned back and laced her fingers behind her head, enjoying the breeze and the view.

"I love this planet. Get rid of the giant walking bugs and the giant walking egos, and it'd be perfect. I almost didn't mind half the jobs those damned nobles always needed done for them."

Ray looked up from watching the hills go by. "You too? I had some errands here not too long ago."

"And you didn't call me?" Imara pretended to be offended. "What was so damned critical you had to keep it to yourself?"

It turned out they had missed each other by only a couple weeks. The scenery flew by largely unnoticed as the two friends shared their experiences on the planet, except when one or the other would point out a particular location to illustrate her story. All too soon, the taxi rounded a high wall and settled down next to a tethered thranta. Without a backward glance, the pair set off northward toward the twin bridges joining the Juran Mountain region to the Glarus Valley.

They continued the conversation as they walked, until they reached an area patrolled by Imperial sentries. Raya wondered how they would get past until she saw Imara twist a control on her belt and fade from sight. _That's fine for you,_ Ray thought irritably, _but how am I supposed to get past them?_ Her question was answered a moment later when the guards suddenly slumped over, asleep. Imara reappeared right next to them and waved a hand in front of their eyes. Nothing. Both women took the opportunity to make some faces at the oblivious guardsmen before moving on, laughing the whole way.

Deeper into the mountains, Imara stopped on the western side of a gently sloping hill and looked around. "Yeah, this is it." She produced a pair of retractable skis and poles and handed a set to Ray, who reluctantly accepted them. Halfway up the slope, they stopped to don their gear. Imara showed her friend the basics of maneuvering on the long, slim pieces of plasteel and explained how to fall without breaking bones or skis. Once that was done, they started down the hill; slowly at first, then picking up speed as Ray became more comfortable with the motions. In spite of her earlier protests, she even looked like she was having fun.

Imara reached the bottom of the hill for perhaps the dozenth time, panting and sweaty, but grinning widely. She stretched the ache out of some of her muscles as she waited for Raya to catch up. Ray reached the bottom a minute later and glared at Imara, although the expression had lost its malice and was only there to cover a smirk.

"Don't look at me like that," Raya grumbled. "I'm wet and cold, and yet somehow sweating my ass off. Are we done here?" It was clear she was enjoying herself anyway, but refused to admit it.

Imara puffed a few clouds out into the cold mountain air before responding, trying to catch her breath. "Yeah, we should probably get going. It's starting to get too warm for us to be here much longer, anyway." She was glad Ray never asked _why_ it would be bad to stay in warmer weather. If she had to explain the risk of avalanches, she didn't think she'd ever talk the other woman into skiing again.

Apparently Ray was already looking to the next part of the day. She raised an eyebrow and pointed out, "If I'm not mistaken, you owe me a drink."

_It's now or never, and I don't wanna do this in front of other people. The problem is, should I trust Minara and lie to my friend, or tell her the truth?_ Imara turned the question over in her mind for a couple minutes before finally reaching a decision. She looked up at the sun as it finally crested the mountain's peak, frowning. "One thing first." Ray noticed the shift in her friend's temperament, but remained silent, waiting. After pulling off her skis, collapsing them and her poles, waiting for Ray to follow suit, and tucking them all away in her pack, Imara produced a small box from her jacket pocket and held it out. Raya reached for it, then hesitated.

"Well, take it!" Imara couldn't conceal her agitation, and wound up nearly shouting the words when Ray paused.

Clearly confused about the other's odd behavior and the gift, Ray took the package and unwrapped it. Her right brow lifted slowly in surprise as she pulled a beaded bracelet which had clearly seen its fair share of exposure to time and the elements. The colors, once brilliant, had dulled considerably. Even so, it was unbelieveably beautiful to the diminuative smuggler. Without looking away from the gift, she asked breathlessly, "Where... did you get this?"

Imara closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, still wrestling with her conscience and not at all happy with what she had to say next. "This is what I think it is?" she asked, avoiding the need to answer directly.

Raya looked up, wild-eyed and hopeful as she nodded. "Did you find her? Where is she? Is she okay?"

Folding her hands in front of her mouth, Imara said quietly, "So it really was Minara." There was no doubt in her mind, but every second she could put off lying to Raya was that much longer she could keep her as a friend.

"It had to be. Tell me where she is. I have to find her!"

Imara hung her head, not willing to make eye contact. There was no avoiding it now. Either she would have to tell the truth or let Raya think her sister was dead. "I... she..." _Dammitall! Damn the Empire and damn slavers!_ "Ray, I'm sorry. Bloody stars, I am SO sorry. I really did try to bring her back to you. I couldn't. I just... I couldn't."

Exuberance faded into irritation as Ray resisted the implied statement. "What... what are you saying? Is she in danger? If you have this," she brandished the bracelet, "you had to have seen her. She had to have given you this, so _tell me where she is!_"

Imara looked at the rising sun, the ground, the slope they had just been shredding – anywhere but at the irate gunslinger next to her. "I was pretty sure the person I found was your sister. This was on her. Ray... please, you really don't want to know the rest. Trust me." _Because if you knew what your sister is doing now, you'd probably lose it._ Imara forced a small smile and attempted to change the subject. "I'm pretty sure you need that drink right about now."

No response came for a long while as the realization of Minara's death settled in Raya's mind. Finally, she tightened her jaw and nodded, unable to form a verbal response. Imara considered trying to cheer her up, but decided against it, opting to allow her some time to grieve. Instead, she moved off a little ways and dialed the shuttle service from her portable holocommunicator. A few minutes later, a small craft settled onto a flat patch of snow nearby, waited for the women to board, then lifted off and headed toward the House Organa compound.

* * *

"Yknow," Raya said calmly – too calmly - as they made their way to a table in the cantina, "Part of me always knew it was a possibility. I guess I should've been prepared for this."

Empathy was clear in her face as Imara looked over. "Believe me, I know how hard it is to lose family." She resisted the temptation to mention their mentors, figuring Ray was probably already thinking about Fellin as well. Trying again to move away from painful topics, Imara tried a small smile. "That reminds me... you said you have a crew. What in all the galaxy would make a loner like you take on a crew? I mean, you said he's handsome," referring to the first crewmate Captain Dace had accepted, "but that was never enough before. What happened?"

"I don't," Ray paused to think, "...really know." She shrugged, then smirked. "He's just... different."

"Uh huuh." The younger smuggler grinned knowingly. "You found yourself a man, didn't you?"

The timing couldn't have been worse. Raya nearly missed the chair as she started to sit, sputtering, "I – he's not – you just – argh! Stop that!"

Imara's visible eye widened. "Really? I was just teasing ya. You seriously went and fell for someone?" She laughed long and loud, heedless of the heads turning to find the source of the noise.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." Ray glared evilly at her friend.

By the time a waitress came to take their order, Imara had gotten her laughter under control and wiped away some moisture which had gathered in her eye. She looked around at the staring nobles, silently daring any of them to say something. Once they turned back to their own business, she addressed Raya again. "I guess it was bound to happen sometime. It jus caught me by surprise."

Raya snorted inelegantly. "Tell me about it. I didn't even realize it until it practically smacked me in the face."

It was Imara's turn to raise her eyebrows. "A smooth one, hm? You better watch it around that type." Their drinks arrived then, and they both took a long swallow. As the evening wore on, the liquid started warming their bellies, and both started to feel more at ease – Raya because she was becoming more inebriated; Imara because her friend was finally relaxing a little. Every once in a while, Ray would stare into her cup, thinking about her lost sister. Imara invariably allowed her a moment of quiet reflection, then asked about some other topic. They spent a few hours talking and laughing about smuggling runs, their new crew members, and the seemingly endless list of missions the Republic asked of the freelancers.

Generally, they ignored the other occupants of the cantina, but one particularly haughty nobleman persisted in staring. When either of them made eye contact with him, he gave a withering glare, intent on making sure they knew they weren't welcome.

It didn't matter much to the smugglers. Raya winked at Imara, smiled, then delivered a frighteningly accurate impression of what the man was probably thinking: "Oh, those spacers over there. Probably spend days languishing about in a filthy ship, surrounded by vermin and who _knows_ what else! Such obnoxious behavior. No manners, these spacers!" She continued on for a little while longer, until Imara was laughing so hard it was difficult to breathe. The younger smuggler put her head down on the table, trying hard to regain her composure. Finally she managed to calm down enough to speak. "Wait... wait..." She gasped for air, then did her best to imitate the accent Raya had been using. "What is such lowly trash doing in here, anyway?" Apparently that was enough for the man sitting a few tables over, because he got to his feet and stormed out the door, robes swishing around him. This time, it was the bartender who fixed them with a glare.

"I beg your pardon, ladies," he almost choked on the word, aware that the drunken spacer and her friend were not the sort of ladies he was used to. "If you continue to ridicule my clients, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Raya was more than up to the challenge. She rose to her feet and struck a pose. "Do you know who I am? I am _Captain_ Raya Dace." She very carefully pronounced each word, intent on impressing the bartender with her importance. "There probably isn't a stinking noble in here who doesn't owe me some favor, so the least you can do is let me have a drink in peace." Imara toyed with the idea of shushing the other captain before she caused trouble, but it was too much fun watching the spectacle unfold. It came as no surprise to the sober smuggler when the bartender nodded to a bouncer standing near the door, nor when the bouncer approached the women to escort them out. In an attempt to avoid a real problem, Imara held up a hand to the massive man - _Is he part Gamorrean or something? Stars, he's huge!_ - took Ray's elbow herself, and started toward the exit.

Captain Raya Dace wasn't quite done yet. Stopping at the threshhold, she turned, gave a grand formal bow (nearly losing her balance in the process) and a sloppy salute, then addressed the remaining patrons. "Ladies, gents, and giant walking egos! With that masterful display, I bid you all farewell and good night!" Imara couldn't help laughing as they left the building, especially since the sun was still fairly high in the sky.

Imara kept one shoulder under Ray's arm to keep the other woman from falling as they staggered back to the spaceport, singing "Smeeleeyah Whao Tupee Upee" loudly, off-key, and messing up most of the lyrics. A quick check of the ship roster showed her the location of the _Legacy_'s hangar, and they were at the ship's hatch in almost no time.

A well-built man of medium height with messy brown hair and several scars across his face and neck met them at the ramp with raised brows and a muttered, "Thank you, ma'am."

Imara gave him an appreciative once-over as he slung Raya's other arm over his shoulder. Grinning at Ray, she boldly commented, "You're right. He IS cute."

Ray's first mate blushed fiercely at the compliment. He turned an even darker shade of red when Raya returned the grin, gave a very indiscreet nod, and tapped the much larger man on the chest as she beamed up at him. Imara turned to leave, figuring the pair would want some privacy.

"Have a good one, Ray. See ya around."

Raya threw out her free arm to wave wildly, nearly knocking her companion off-balance. "Keep in touch!"

"Sure thing, kid," Imara teased, earning a playful scowl from Raya and a questioning look from the man supporting her. Still chuckling, she left the hangar and started back toward her own ship.

* * *

The captain returned the her own hangar a few minutes later. Risha and Bowdaar were still out, and Seetwo was hard at work scrubbing the cargo hold. Corso had apparently returned from whatever downtime activity he had been doing, if he had even left the ship. Somehow Imara doubted the Mantellian had gone out at all. At least two different blasters were lying in front of him on the table in the common area, broken down completely and expertly cleaned and oiled. Torchy was back in its holster, but had a sheen which hadn't been there when she left that morning. To her amusement, some of the oil had spilled over the side of the table and onto the deck. Seetwo would probably blow a fuse when he saw that. She laughed quietly at the thought, bringing Corso back from whatever he had been contemplating as he polished the hilt of one of his blasters.

"Welcome back, Captain. Didja have a good time with your friend?" He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice; a fact Imara picked up on immediately.

Imara faced a difficult choice between trying to comfort her stalwart friend and keeping her personal business private. In spite of the challenges and hard decisions she had dealt with in the past few weeks, the look in his dark eyes made her realize just how unfair it was to leave him ignorant of recent events. She took a seat opposite him and began in a casual tone, "Yeah, delivering bad news always makes my day."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, Corso's head snapped up to consider her. "Bad news? What bad news?" In a surprising leap of intuition, he asked, "Did that have anything to do with your other trip?"

"Slow down a minute, soldier. If you really wanna know, I'll start at the beginning." He waited eagerly, his blaster forgotten in his hands. "Remember I told you I'm originally from Balmorra?"

"Uh-huh."

"And about the Imperial responsible for my town getting..." She had trouble forcing out the word _enslaved_, so she was grateful when he motioned for her to continue. "That other Imperial, the one you tried to kill the other day, knew how to find him, and promised to lead me to him if I took care of a couple things."

"I don't like the sound of that, Captain." Corso scowled.

"What? I just had to take out a few Sith. I'd have done that even without him asking." Her grin caused Corso's expression to soften as well. "That was just a bonus."

"So that makes him a good guy?" Corso asked, recalling their conversation from two days before. "How did you know it wasn't some kind of trap?"

"Smuggler's luck," Imara lied, not willing to admit to meeting Summers back on Nar Shadaa four weeks ago.

"Uh-huh," he repeated. "So what does all this have to do with the bad news for your friend?"

Imara bit her lower lip, trying to figure out just how to phrase her answer. "I found Ray's sister while I was there. She, um... she's dead." The smuggler felt even worse lying to Corso about it than she had misleading Raya, but she couldn't risk the honorable man accidentally letting the truth slip out. This was one secret she would have to keep to herself.

The pair chatted for another few hours – she told him about her fight with the Sith Lords (except Darth Rasan, since that would involve the truth about Minara) and with Huldar; he detailed the job Risha had found for them while the captain was away – until the rest of the crew returned. After everyone had resumed their usual routines, Captain Goodspeed set a course for Balmorra, intent on resuming their mission to track down Rogun the Butcher and the elusive Voidwolf.


	15. Epilogue

_Author's notes: For the last frickin' time, I don't own anything in this story! I write purely for the sake of writing – and because Imara and the others wanted their stories told. I'm actually kinda sad about this being the last chapter. But you want to see how it ends. Go on then, get to reading. Enjoy, and don't forget to review. _

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* * *

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**Epilogue**

* * *

Republic Fleet, two years later...

_Risha _

"You don't have to do that, you know." Imara stood in the entryway to the engine room, watching with some amusement as her engineer tinkered with something deep inside the hyperdrive. As soon as they had pulled back into the hangar bay on the Republic Fleet, the engineer had set to work fixing something in the engine, claiming it was emitting an odd smell. Despite jokes at Bowdaar's expense, she insisted on doing the repairs anyway. As usual, the older woman was right.

Risha replaced the part, then carefully extracted herself from the machinery. "Humor me, Captain. This is probably one of the last chances I'll get to do things for myself."

"How terrible for you," Imara teased. "Being waited on hand and foot, eating fine meals off golden plates – sounds like torture." A couple years ago, the Dubrillion princess probably would have gotten angry at the jest. After three years and several planets' worth of tough situations, the two women had finally developed something resembling a friendship. Risha had even said as much once, just before they left Corellia.

She wiped her greasy hands on an already greasy cloth in a futile attempt to clean them. "Only if you like having your entire day planned out for you and having to pander to this duke or that earl so you don't start a war."

Imara made a face. "You win. I'm not sure I could ever do that. I'm too young to be queen anyway."

"That's my line!" Risha laughed, reaching for a clean cloth.

"So it is. Well, Your Majesty." Imara sketched a bow, much to Risha's annoyance. "It seems this is where we part ways. For now at least."

"Right," agreed the heiress. "Too bad. I was having fun flying with you. It'll be hard finding someone to get into trouble with – someone I know can help get us back _out_ of trouble."

"I'm sure you'll manage. I'm not the first, and I bet I won't be the last. No worries, I'll pop by every now and again to spice things up."

"I'll be sure to put the guards on alert, just in case anything goes missing," Risha teased.

"Hey, that's not fair! You stole from me first. Besides, if I wanted to take anything of yours, it's not like I'd _tell_ you."

"No, probably not. It doesn't matter anyway, now that you'll be getting a steady paycheck. Maybe you can afford some hairpins or something," she added, studying Imara's hip-length red hair. The smuggler had left it down today, since combat was unlikely. She ran a hand through the lower half of it, wondering why she had decided to grow it out in the first place.

"I just figured it was time for a change. Wanted to try something new, y'know?" Imara spoke to herself as much as to Risha.

"It looks good," the other woman commented. "Maybe when you come visit, you won't look so much like a war refugee."

"I haven't had any complaints yet."

"That's because you've never tried to fit in."

"Why would I want to do something like that?" Imara asked with mock horror. "I mean really. Can you see me in one of those uncomfortable dresses at some fancy party, chatting with some duke who doesn't know which end of a blaster to fire?" They both laughed heartily. Risha clutched her sides, but finally managed to catch her breath enough to respond.

"If I ever get bored at one of those parties, I'll just remember you said that. You might even get an invitation."

"Please, no!" Imara feigned terror, backing away with her hands shielding her face. "Anything but that! I'd rather face a rancor than be stuck in a room with some stuffy nobles."

"In case you've forgotten," Risha chided, "you're talking to one of those 'stuffy nobles'."

"No, I'm talking to my engineer, who is deadly with a rifle and flies halfway across the galaxy to personally rescue a friend. She just happens to be Queen of Dubrillion is all."

Risha scoffed. "Don't remind me. It wasn't exactly my plan to become queen, and definitely not this soon, but I couldn't leave my world to that other creep. Just remember your promise."

"Refresh my memory. I want to make sure I get this right."

Risha rolled her eyes with long-suffering patience. "You're not going to just disappear. I'm going to need a break once in a while, and you're just the person for the job."

"What about Merritt?" Imara's innocent expression only lasted until she met Risha's glare. "What? I thought you liked him!"

"Of course I do. He's sweet. But he's a nobleman to the core. A girl needs to get out and have _fun_ once in a while. Can I count on you for that, Captain?"

"Sure thing, Risha. I'll swing by next time I'm in your neck of the galaxy."

"Good. Now go do something useful before I get sentimental or something."

Laughing, Captain Goodspeed exited the engine room and turned left.

* * *

_Bowdaar_

She passed by the cargo hold and glanced inside. The Mon Calamari had long since gone back to his former employer at Port Nowhere, with her enthusiastic blessings. _I never liked that guy anyway. No backbone, and he smelled like brine._ She continued down the passageway until she reached the galley, where Bowdaar was considering which seasonings would work best with whatever creature he had killed, skinned, and placed on the counter.

"Whatcha makin'?" Imara began conversationally. Wookies were famous for their appetites, and this one was no exception. Fortunately, all that time spent in the ship's kitchen had turned the former slave and gladiator into an accomplished chef. The captain had no doubt whatever he was preparing would turn out exceptional.

"Guid," Bowdaar answered laconically. Apparently he had not been idle while Imara and Risha were busy combating the Empire's presence on Ilum – again. It seemed even after earning her First Class Bloodstripes and dealing with one of the Empire's most fearsome Sith Lords, the Republic had no intention of letting Imara get back to her own life. She wasn't sure if it was because they objected to her lifestyle or because they really needed the help. Either way, she received holocalls on an almost daily basis asking for her assistance with something or other. Eating rations while she was away on missions was getting really old, so she looked forward to the Wookie's cooking.

"Sounds great," she said honestly. "Should I let you get back to that?"

Bowdaar pulled a couple containers down from a shelf, sniffed the contents, then set them to one side to use later. "You came at a good time. I wanted your opinion on something."

Imara shrugged. "I'm a terrible cook. You know that. Before you came along, the droid usually took care of that. Otherwise Amnon would complain about the smell for days."

They both laughed, although Bowdaar's could have been mistaken for a war cry by anyone not familiar with his species. "I would have liked to meet your teacher. He and your family did well."

"Stop, you're making me blush," she teased. "What about your family? What do you think'll happen when you get back to Kashyyk?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you about. There is nothing left for me on my homeworld. I have been gone for over a century, and even before that my wife and son were dead. Instead, I had hoped to join the Republic military."

"I can see how going home would be painful, but I never took you for the patriotic type, big guy," Imara observed. "Why the military?"

"Combat has become my life, even with you and the others as my family. From what I have seen of the military, they work as a family as well. If yours must separate, I can lend my skills to a military unit. We will fight as brothers against oppression and the Empire."

"Well, since we're basically soldiers-for-hire, as far as the Republic is concerned anyway, that plan makes as much sense as anything else." She put a hand on his arm, having difficulty reaching his shoulder. "I'm sure they'd love to have you. There's nothing like an angry Wookie to scare the stuffing out of the enemy." Bowdaar smiled at the observation, showing all his teeth. _Stars, why is it everything about Wookies is scary unless you know them?_ Imara shook her head and chuckled, as much at the thought as at her previous comment.

Turning back to start carving the meat into chunks, Bowdaar asked, "Are you staying long enough to have dinner with us?"

Imara shook her head again, this time regretfully. "I'd love to, pal, but my shuttle leaves soon, and there're a few things I still gotta take care of.

"I thought you'd say that, but I couldn't remember what time you had to leave. Here." He held out a small container filled with smoked jerky. Imara had lost count of the number of times she had packed away a similar container in her supplies, and how many times the contents of those containers had provided the energy she needed to finish her job. She gratefully accepted the package.

"One for the road, hm? Thanks, big guy. You take care of yourself, okay?"

Bowdaar rumbled something between acknowledgement and a chuckle as Imara left to say goodbye to the rest of her crew.

* * *

_Akaavi_

She bypassed the bridge entirely. She wasn't ready to talk to _him_ yet. Instead, she made her way to the med bay, where the Mandalorian Zabrak, Akaavi Spar, was studying anatomy charts, no doubt trying to figure out more efficient ways to take down an opponent.

Imara knocked on the side of the open hatch, not wanting to take the horned woman by surprise. She had no doubt Akaavi heard her coming already, but there was no point taking the risk with someone who had been training in combat techniques since she was three years old.

"I told you before, Captain, I will not leave your side. _Aliit ori'shya tal'din,_" Akaavi began without looking up.

"Akaavi, Risha is gonna have snipers and assassins after her for years! She's gonna need someone like you to watch her back. Don't Mandalorians look after the _whole_ clan?" The previous night, two women had already discussed the option of sending Akaavi with Risha as a bodyguard, and the former bounty hunter was not at all pleased with the prospect. Akaavi knew she didn't really have a choice in the matter – it was that or strike out on her own again - but she wasn't about to let it go without a fight.

The Zabrak turned to face the human, eyes flashing. Imara resisted the impulse to pull her blaster in defense, knowing the honor-loving woman would not attack an unarmed opponent, and certainly not one to whom she had claimed loyalty. The thought was little comfort for anyone facing an angry Mandalorian.

"Do NOT presume to tell me how clan life works! Yes, family and clan are important, but I gave my word of honor. To _you_, not to that spoiled princess or her pompous husband. Would you have me break my word?"

"Merritt isn't all that bad. Anyway, would it be breaking your word if I told you 'you _can't_ come with me'? Circumstances change, Akaavi, and we have to change with them." She spread her hands and grinned. "Unless you think you're cut out for the intelligence business?"

The Zabrak snorted a quick laugh, then resumed her usual grim expression. "I would not enjoy working with the SIS. There is no honor in sitting at a desk, or in sneaking around, stabbing people from behind – no offense intended," she added with unusual diplomacy after noting Imara's frown. Traveling with the smuggler had done much to temper the warrior's brash demeanor. Despite their rough start and relatively short time together, Imara was as sorry to part with this friend as she was with the others.

"None taken. If I always fought with honor, I probably wouldn't win near as often. And I kinda have a thing about being killed."

"If I didn't know you better, I would call you a coward for saying that."

Imara's smile grew wider. "Good thing you know me better, then."

Akaavi frowned at the smiling redhead. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"Not if I can help it."

"So that's why you're leaving?" The question caught her off guard, erasing her smile. The smuggler raised her eyebrows curiously.

"_Now_ who's fighting dirty?"

"I learned from the best, Goodspeed."

Imara's grin returned. "Glad to be of assistance. For the record, no. I'm leaving because this is where my life is taking me. You of all people should understand that." Akaavi nodded, conceding the point. She was traveling with the very woman she had once been ordered to kill, after all. Imara continued, "Anything else you need before I head out?"

The Mandalorian shook her head, then changed her mind and asked, "When do you leave?"

"In about an hour. There's one thing I gotta deal with first."

"Good hunting, then, Captain." Akaavi went back to her studies. Death and departures were a daily occurrence for Mandalorians, so the Zabrak schooled her emotions back to a warrior's calm as her captain and friend started back out of the room.

"_Ret'urcye mhi, burc'ya,_" Imara said solemnly. Akaavi looked up at her, taken by surprise both by the words and the language in which they had been spoken.

She was silent for a moment, then replied, "You will never cease to amaze me, Captain."

"What? I can learn new things, too, can't I? Did I say it right?" The smuggler's smirk dispersed the more serious atmosphere from a moment before.

"_Ret'urcye mhi, burc'ya,_" Akaavi repeated. "Farewell, my friend." Imara smiled again, then disappeared around the corner.

* * *

_Corso_

She walked more slowly, taking in every plane and angle of the ship which had been her home for over six years. It was going to be hard letting go of Amnon's legacy to her – his last words had been to leave it in _her_ care - but there was no one in the galaxy she trusted better to take care of it. Taking a deep breath, she finally moved up the short corridor to the new captain of the ship.

"Hey farmboy. You about ready?"

"Right behind you, Captain." Apparently he had been waiting for her, because he had already buckled on a toolbelt in place of his usual blaster holsters. A bunch of rags were tucked into the belt, ready for use.

"You don't have to call me that anymore, yknow."

"Old habits die hard." His deliberately casual tone didn't fool her for a second, contrasted as it was by the pain in his dark eyes. She nodded and looked away, intent on beginning the inspection of the ship with as little hassle as possible.

The two of them walked around, on, and under the ship, checking for loose panels, frayed wiring, and anything else which might need repairs. This time, Imara was also coaching Corso on how to take good care of the vessel during her absence of what would likely be several years, at least. He did his best to stay out the woman's path despite his desire to make her stop. This was one decision he just couldn't understand. They worked without speaking for the first ten minutes. When Corso finally broke the silence, he came straight to the heart of the matter. "Tell me again why you have to do this, Cap- Imara."

"If I don't check over my ship, how will I know if anything's wrong? Besides, it's tradition for the captain to do a joint inspection with the person taking charge of the ship. That's what they tell me, anyway." Her glib reply was more than a little frustrating, so his response came out a bit more sharply than he had intended.

"You know what I mean. Why are you leaving?" He barely resisted the urge to slam the side of his fist against the hull. Upsetting her now by damaging her ship (it would be a _long_ time before he could ever consider it to be his) would accomplish nothing.

She glanced at him briefly to acknowledge the question, then continued checking ship components as she considered her answer. After a few minutes, she spoke again.

"I can do more good from inside than I can from out here. Risha and the others have their business taken care of, and Ivory can probably handle mine better than I can. So," Imara stopped to face him directly, "what is there to keep me here?"

The undertone of challenge dropped Corso's heart into his boots. _I _knew_ I should have said something back then,_ he berated himself. Three years had passed since this fiery smuggler landed on Ord Mantell and changed his life forever. By the end of the first year, he had come to the conclusion she wasn't ready for a relationship and decided to give her some space. She had certainly made it clear she wasn't interested in settling down! _Is it possible she actually...? No, stop that. A woman like that would have said something... wouldn't she?_ In the two years since then, he had waited patiently for her to come to him, to flirt with him just one more time so he could tell her... _Tell her what? That I want to be the father of her future children instead of their 'uncle'? That's what scared her off the first time. _

Imara watched as Corso's mouth opened and closed a few times, half-hoping he would finally tell her what she had been wanting to hear for so long. _Just say it, farmboy. This is probably your last chance._ Like every time before, he let propriety dictate his actions and closed his mouth over the words which would have changed her mind in a heartbeat. He loved her, that much was painfully obvious, but this idiotic notion he had about how relationships should happen kept him from doing anything about it. _Idiotic? Who's the idiot?_ she chided. _Who's the one who turned him down every time until he gave up? Who strung him along like a kite?_ She sighed inwardly. _Best to cut him loose then; let him live his own life. He deserves someone better._ She finally broke eye contact, forcing those thoughts to the side to resume her work.

"Now this lever has a tendency to get stuck. When that happens..." Corso listened with half an ear, already fully familiar with the freighter's quirks and nuances, and wished the inspection would take just a little bit longer.

* * *

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* * *

After a couple long shuttle rides and a speeder from the spaceport, Imara took a deep breath of non-recycled air, then walked quickly from the taxi pad to the east wing of the large building dominating the thickly clouded horizon, doing her best to ignore the panic she felt seeing other people in garb similar to hers. Her new uniform was far from comfortable, and only half of that had anything to do with the fabric or the cut. Still, years as a smuggler had taught her how to mask her emotions when necessary, so she kept her hands swinging steadily at her sides and her face neutral.

She reviewed her datapad again to be sure of the instructions; she was to report to the overseer of the Operations division of Intelligence for a briefing prior to beginning her training. Following the directions provided, she worked her way through the corridors until she reached a particular office – unmarked, of course. There was a man standing behind a desk, his back to her as he studied a display on the wall behind him. There was something familiar about his dark hair and the way he folded his hands behind his back. Imara allowed herself a small smile at her imagination. _Those would be some incredible odds. They probably all do that. _But she could almost swear she smelled cinnamon... She mentally shook herself and resumed her detached expression as she stopped a half meter from the desk.

"Keeper? Agent Chunhei reporting as instructed." After all the work she had done for the Republic, there was no doubt the agency had a thick file on her, so using her real name was out of the question. She couldn't do anything about her cybernetics, so she didn't bother altering her appearance, hoping instead no one would bother making the connection.

In spite of these precautions, part of her mind was screaming at her to flee, that she was deep in enemy territory and only had a few seconds to make her escape. After six years evading law enforcement from both the Republic and the Empire, the feeling was only natural. The chance to run and the voice urging her to do so both vanished as soon as the man turned to acknowledge her. She only barely managed to maintain her calm visage when she recognized his face – one which had hardly changed at all in the two years since she had last seen him.

A smile warmed Keeper's features, and he extended his arms in greeting. "Welcome to Imperial Intelligence Headquarters, my dear. I'm so glad you were finally able to make it."

Despite the tumbling exercises her stomach was doing, Imara returned the smile and assumed her customary scoundrel's posture – arms crossed and weight over her left leg. "What was I supposed to do, Joseph? This place is a mess, and you need my help to fix it. So where do we start?"

Summers' smile widened further as he began the briefing, instructing the newest Imperial Agent in their shared purpose and the expectations for her new life.

* * *

_~FIN~_

* * *

_Translations (courtesy of starwars dot wikia dot com / wiki/Mandoa): _

Aliit ori'shya tal'din _– Family is more than bloodline._

Ret'urcye mhi – _Goodbye. Literally, "Maybe we'll meet again__"_

burc'ya - _friend_

_AN: Thanks for reading this all the way through to the end. I'm really glad these two let me ride along with them, seeing what they saw and hearing what they heard, because it's been one helluva ride. _

_My apologies to the Corso-fans. I hope this alternate ending is an acceptable substitute._

_If you want to know more about Cipher Agent Joseph Summers, send a PM to FrictionX42 (and cc it to me, so I can beat him over the head for a year or two until it's finally written). I'm sorry to say I won't be writing about Imara's future as an agent – OpSec and all that – but if there's anything you want to know about her past, feel free to ask. I'm not opposed to the idea of writing "deleted scenes", either. __No promises, but I will at least take your suggestions into consideration. After all, why bother posting stories here if not for people like you reading them? Thanks again, and good fortunes!_

_- Laryn Chillbreeze_


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